


The Rider With No Dragon

by Quizzical



Category: Bandom/Dragonriders of Pern crossover (posted for bandom_pern)
Genre: Crossover, Dragons, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-09
Updated: 2012-01-20
Packaged: 2017-11-15 19:18:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 33,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/530783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quizzical/pseuds/Quizzical
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bob has no dragon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bob

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** The Pern universe and the world, creatures and customs that belong to it remain the intellectual property of Anne McCaffrey, and the characters referenced in this piece are fictional representations of real people. No offense or infringement is intended, and no profit is being made.  
> 
> 
>  **Fandom:** Bandom/[Dragonriders](http://4dw.net/aerden/theran/pernprimer.html) of [Pern](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pern) crossover (posted for [](http://bandom-pern.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://bandom-pern.livejournal.com/)**bandom_pern** )  
> 

**Rating:** General Audience  
 **Pairing:** Gen (Bob Bryar-centric)  
 **Warnings:** None  
 **Words:** 860

  
**Bob**

 

Bob heard them before he saw them. That little ripple at the edges of his thoughts. A tentative,"Hello?" that he never acknowledged.

He wondered if it hurt their feelings that he never replied, but still, that wasn't enough to make him face them. He quickly finished up at the forge, letting the fire die down slightly, and putting all of the half worked pieces of metal into the cold water, out of harm's way, and the finished pieces on the bench, where the riders looking for them could find them easily.

Bob took off his heavy wher-hide gloves and apron and hung them in place, replacing the apron with his hooded jacket, before slipping out through the side door and into the sunshine.

He knew that Brian wouldn't expect him to stay when the riders came to the Hall. He'd even offered to let Bob work on other projects instead, but Bob's unique understanding of how the equipment would be used made him the ideal craftsman for the job.

Usually he disappeared deeper into the lower caverns of the CraftHall, where no dragonrider was likely to stray, and where the voices of the dragons were muted and distant. The ache of loss was not so easily ignored, however, and today the urge to just _see_ a dragon was too strong.

Bob stayed in the shadows of the great window ledges, his hands in his pockets, shoulders hunched, and made his way slowly around to the eastern wall. From there, it was easy to see up to the ledges on the cliff where it met the front of the Hall. It was a perfect place for dragons to stretch out and enjoy the sunshine from the clear, thread-free skies.

There were two dragons today. Bob recognised the young green that had come the last few times a delivery had been required from the Weyr, accompanied today by an older brown. Bob knew him and his rider. And his rider knew Bob. He shrank back further into the shadows, leaning his shoulder against the cool stone of the wall. The green dragon was stretching out her neck, enjoying the attention of the brown who lay in a more relaxed posture, but betrayed amusement with the whirling blue showing behind partially lidded eyes. There was a hint of interest there, too, and Bob wondered briefly if the green was going to rise soon, and if the brown knew it.

That thought brought with it familiar pain, and a wave of anger and hurt. He squeezed his eyes shut against the bitterness that now overshadowed sense memories of triumph and exhilaration. He clenched his jaw, breathing slowly in and out, waiting for the tingling to fade from his scarred leg.

He was distracted from his efforts by the sound of approaching conversation. The green stopped swaying her head around and looked down toward the hall doors.

_Penth?_

Bob heard a brief assurance in his mind, sent in a confident tone, followed by a laugh. The rider's voice sounded younger than the thought, though older than the maturity of the dragon suggested. For a brief moment, Bob was distracted from his inky black thoughts by curiosity. 'Penth' was not a name for a rider. That was a name for a dragon.

Three figures emerged from the Hall. Brian was carrying a large basket. It was obviously heavy, but not a problem for Brian's compact, wiry strength. The brown rider, Rubano, was balancing two coiled, heavy wher-hide straps, suitable for attaching the basket to the back of a dragon. He was scowling at the other rider.

"It's not my fault that Mastersmith Schechter handed them to you. _Obviously_ he saw your superior strength."

This was evidently the owner of the thought and the laugh. Bob leant forward to see more.

A young man walked ahead, swinging his riding helmet from one hand, the other pushing hair off his face. His long torso swayed easily with his strides. He grinned over his shoulder at the others as Rubano rebuked him for his lack of respect for wing heirarchy. Bob wasn't close enough to see him clearly, but the smile was bright enough that even from several feet away, Bob felt his breath catch in his chest.

_Miloth. Ready to go? Time to stop flirting._

_Bayth can admire me if he likes. It helps pass the time. Did you see the Other One?_

_Not today. He was too fast._

Bob was distracted from following the conversation by the familiar smell of the weyr. Wafts of firestone combined with the scent of warm air off the rock and stirred up dust in the stone courtyard as the dragons landed to meet their riders. The accompanying wave of longing had Bob gasping out loud and stumbling from his hiding spot to stagger past them, and into the relative sanctuary of the Hall.

He heard Brian call after him, but he didn't turn around, even when he heard the _woosh_ of the dragons taking off.

That didn't stop him picturing the spread of their wings or imagining the way the wind would be feeling against the riders' faces before they got enough height to go _between_.

 

~

 

_**A/N:** I have decided to handwave the convention of contracting the dragon riders' names for this cycle of ficlets._

_Thankyou to[](http://maple-mahogany.livejournal.com/profile)[ **maple_mahogany**](http://maple-mahogany.livejournal.com/) and [](http://miss-diverse.livejournal.com/profile)[**miss_diverse**](http://miss-diverse.livejournal.com/) for the read throughs and to [](http://reni-days.livejournal.com/profile)_[**reni_days**](http://reni-days.livejournal.com/) for the beta.


	2. Bob

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spencer has Miloth.

**Rating:** Not Intended for Children (some adult language, sexual themes)  
 **Pairing:** Gen (mention of Spencer/Brendon and other pairings)  
 **Warnings:** Discussion of Weyr morality  
 **Words:** 1550

Ficlet Two

**Spencer**

 

Spencer jumped down from Miloth's back and hurried over to help Rubano offload the basket of repaired flame throwers. For all his taunting at the Hall, he took his responsibilities seriously, and was rather miffed that both the Mastersmith and Rubano had decided the load was too heavy for Miloth to carry back. It had taken a few pointed comments about keeping his dragon grounded, unable to fly due to strained muscles before he'd accepted their decision.

_I'm faster than Bayth, even if he is stronger._

Spencer rolled his eyes at the lack of anxiety in his dragon's tone.

_Yes. I know you are. You're faster than dragons twice your size._

Her agreement was casually smug.

She never worried about all the things that Spencer worried about. Miloth had no qualms about her size, or position within the colour heirarchy of the weyr. This was quite reasonable since she never lacked for suitors when she rose to mate, as she had several times since reaching maturity a little over a year previously.

It was still a comfort to Spencer that dragons didn't tease each other the way people did. He'd spent the first months of her life staring down other weyrlings who wanted to tease him for having a name that his dragon couldn't pronounce, hoping that she wouldn't sense his distress, and think he was embarrassed about her in any way.

"On three."

Spencer nodded and stood next to Bayth, ready to take the weight on the leather strap as the fastening was undone on the other side.

_You are also stronger than you look, Penth._

He felt himself blush at Miloth's flattery.

_You don't have to charm me, you know. I already like you._

When the equipment was unloaded, and they'd lugged it down to the storage cavern, Spencer went to find some food.

The dining hall was bustling and busy. He looked around for a space at the long tables for somewhere to eat his stew. It smelled delicious, and he was _hungry_!

"Spencerrr! Spencer Smith!"

He smiled as he saw the weyr's Journeyman Harper standing and waving him over to the corner spot at the end of the bench he was sharing with Shane, Regan, Cassadee and other riders from their wing.

"How was the Hall? Did Schechter bitch you out? Did you see Bryar?"

Spencer made a show of rolling his eyes at the volley of questions.

"That's 'Mastersmith Schechter' to you." Spencer smiled his thanks as Brendon slid along to make room for him. "And he was _fine_. Bryar was there, but only for a second." Spencer felt uneasy gossiping about what he'd seen. Bryar had seemed so... distraught.

Brendon took a breath, ready to unleash another round. Spencer spoke before he had a chance. "God, give me a chance to eat. I'm so fucking hungry."

"Sure. Eat. Gotta keep up your strength." Brendon made ridiculous waggly eyebrows at him. "Big flight coming up any day soon, if I know the signs, and you know I do."

Spencer paused with his spoon half way to his mouth to raise an eyebrow. "Oh my god. Are you serious?" It had happened once. Once! Miloth had risen to mate, and her partner's rider had turned out to be staunchly straight. Brendon had agreed early on to step in to partner Spencer if it was needed, allowing the other rider to remain with their chosen mate. Spencer hid his grin behind an exaggerated huff. "One time doesn't exactly make you an expert on the subject, Brendon!"

Brendon didn't seem the slightest bit chastened and continued to leer theatrically at Spencer. "You can't be trying to tell me that it wasn't your _best_ flight ever, because that would be a _lie_ and a dragonrider doesn't lie about his dragon!"

Shane leant around Brendon and put his hand over his mouth.

"We are eating here, man. Enough with the mating talk. _Ewwww!_ " He leapt to his feet, overturning his klah, shaking his hand. "I can't believe you licked me!"

There was no malice in the complaint, and Shane proceeded to wipe his hand in Brendon's dark, shaggy hair. Brendon reached around, trying to remove Shane's hat. Regan snickered behind him and stole Shane's bread while he was distracted. Spencer lifted his bowl from the table to avoid the growing mess in front of him.

The stew was delicious, rich and filling. He took another few mouthfuls of it before leaning over to push at Brendon's shoulder.

"You'd better keep it down or your boss will remember you're here." Spencer nodded over at the corner where Patrick, the Weyr's resident Master Harper was tuning his gitar, ready for the after dinner entertainment.

"Spoke too soon!" crowed Shane, because at that very moment Patrick looked over towards the disturbance and nodded twice in Brendon's direction, indicating that it was time for him to earn his keep. Shane and Brendon's tussling resolved for a moment into more of a snuggle, before Brendon stretched up, twisting to crack his back and shaking out his hands as he made his way over to the head table. Spencer grinned into his klah. Shane was a sweet guy.

Spencer stayed for a while listening to the music. The two Harpers' voices blended well, and they swapped instruments and lead vocals back and forth easily between them. Spencer found himself tapping beats on the table along with the songs he knew. Miloth enjoyed it when he listened to music but, after a few songs, he decided to get her settled for the night. He smiled his 'goodnights' to those at his table. Brendon caught his eye and winked at him as he headed out of the hall. Spencer waved in return. They would have to catch up properly tomorrow.

Looking after his dragon was one time that Spencer was happy for her comparitively lithe, small stature. It still took a while to oil her flaky skin. They'd been going _between_ a lot more often of late. Spencer was proud of her, and how quickly she had become a trusted member of Pete's wing.

_The wing-leader favours you, too. You are the most reliable green rider in the weyr._

Spencer smiled into her hide as he scratched in behind her wing joint. The mutual admiration society was in fine swing tonight. He leant more of his weight against her, soaking up her scent and warmth.

In contrast, the image from earlier in the day of Bryar, shoulders up around his ears, arms crossed protectively over his chest, chin tucked down as he stumbled away from them and their dragons sat heavily in his gut. Spencer couldn't even begin to comprehend what it would be like to live like that. Torn in half. He shuddered at the idea and rubbed his face against Miloth's side and felt her comforting croon rumble through her belly.

_I wouldn't do it. I'd rather die._

Miloth twisted her neck around and nuzzled at his stomach. _I am here. We are here. All is well._

He increased his scratching in apology for his upsetting thoughts.

_You should sleep with Brendon tonight. He would like that. He likes company._

Spencer was startled into a chuckle. _Are you pimping me out?_

_You would like that, too. You like Brendon._

_I know. And sometimes we have sex. But not tonight. You should rest. You've flown a lot the last few days, and you really do need to save your strength._

Miloth wuffled air through Spencer's hair. She was not so easily distracted. _Brendon would like it, and you would like it._

_Miloth. I can decide who I sleep with and when._

_Well, I would like it._

_Sorry to disappoint you._ Spencer was now smiling broadly as he undressed and got into bed. _Besides, I'm pretty sure he's with Shane tonight. Now, go to sleep!_

Spencer covered the glow basket and settled in, steering his thoughts away from the Smithcraft Hall, away from his friends. It had been a few weeks since he'd contacted his sisters. He would have to see about dropping by the Healer Hall where they were apprenticed. They would be happy to see him, happy to show off their big brother the dragonrider. He sensed Miloth's agreement with the plan as his thoughts began to drift away from reason and toward dreams.

He was just helping his sister up onto Miloth's back for a joyride, his beaming mother waving from a distant window when there was a rustling at his doorway, bringing him back to reality. Spencer watched a compact figure creep over to his pallette and felt the dip as Brendon sat down near his feet.

"Hey," he whispered, cautious of rousing Miloth.

"Um. Is it ok if I... Is this ok?"

"Sure. What's up?"

"Oh, you know. Shane's all..." Spencer could vaguely see an arm waving around in place of words.

"Not there."

"Right." The arm flopped down on the bed at Brendon's side. "And Patrick's off with Pete, and the room is all quiet."

"Lonely."

There was a huff that might have been a laugh.

"That, too."

Spencer shuffled back against the wall, making room on the edge of the mattress. "Come on."

Brendon stood, slipping his shift over his head, sliding his pants off, and got under the covers. He pressed his back up against Spencer's bare chest and they tangled their feet together, arranging arms and knees until they were both comfortable.

"G'night, Spence."

Spencer pressed his lips gently against Brendon's neck in answer and listened as his breathing gradually evened out and he let his thoughts wander and fade back to dreams.

 

 

~

 _Thankyou to[](http://maple-mahogany.livejournal.com/profile)[ **maple_mahogany**](http://maple-mahogany.livejournal.com/) and [](http://miss-diverse.livejournal.com/profile)[**miss_diverse**](http://miss-diverse.livejournal.com/) for the read throughs and to [](http://reni-days.livejournal.com/profile)_[**reni_days**](http://reni-days.livejournal.com/) for the beta.


	3. Brendon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brendon has music. And more friends than he ever expected.

**Rating:** R - Intended for an Adult Audience (adult language, sexual themes)  
 **Pairing:** Mention of Spencer/Brendon and other pairings.  
 **Warnings:** Possible dub-con:Talk of sexual activity while under a psychic bond to another.  
 **Words:** 2775  


Ficlet Three

**Brendon**

 

 

Brendon woke up in stages. First he just let himself sink back into his dreams, but he was woken again by the little puffs of air that were tickling his shoulder. He cracked one eye open just enough to see Spencer curled up at his side. Brendon closed his eyes and stretched his legs out before tilting over closer to Spencer, who straightened out as well before sliding one long, warm thigh across the top of Brendon's knees, keeping him in place.

Spencer was starting to stir, pressing up along Brendon's side. It was so tempting to press back; coax him to hardness and enjoy a slow, languid round of comfortable sex to start the day.

He could hear Spencer's dragon shuffling around in her weyr, just through the doorway from the sleeping nook they occupied, and the firm, no-nonsense voice of the Weyrlingmaster, Zack, drifted up from the barracks where he was rousing the riders of the new dragonets, still getting used to the demands of looking after their young charges.

Brendon was starting to get twitchy. Once he had surfaced from sleep he really did need to get moving. It always felt a little rude creeping out before his partner was awake, but he could not keep lying still. He considered the possibility of rolling Spencer over onto his back and waking him up, but as he looked around, he saw Miloth.

It was sort of ridiculous to be embarrassed in front of a dragon. Especially this one. But the fact was that they usually went to Brendon's room to have sex, and Miloth was generally asleep. Or so Spencer said. Brendon wasn't entirely sure he believed him about that. It was nearly impossible to get a rider to explain their dragon. He wondered if it was a private thing, or just that they really didn't understand them any better than he did. It had to be amazing to have a dragon speak to you.

Miloth opened one eye and looked at Brendon. Brendon's mouth went dry. He gave a polite smile and pulled a hand out from the sleeping fur to give a little wave.

"Morning," he whispered. "Um. Miloth."

The dragon didn't make any sound but the whirling eye didn't move from its focus on him either.

It made sense, really, for him to get up and go to his room to wash and dress, since he was on duty this morning after breakfast. He would be drilling the children in their teaching songs, while Patrick tutored some of the more promising older ones in notation and record keeping. Spencer had a rare rest day, so Brendon carefully slipped out from the furs, and into last night's clothes without waking him further.

He never stopped marvelling at just how _big_ dragons were. He knew that Miloth was on the smaller side, even for a green dragon - the smallest of all the colours - but her head was still nearly the size of Brendon's entire body. Her hide glistened with good health and strong colour; the green a rather earthy hue, not bright with the lime glow indicating she was ready to rise. She must be at least a week away, then. Brendon hoped he wouldn't be called away from teaching again this time. Even though everyone in the Weyr knew and accepted that the needs of the dragons over-rode every other concern, that the weyr existed _for_ them, Brendon would still rather not have everyone know that he was waiting to see if he was needed to fuck his friend, even if he was pleased that Spencer still asked for him.

The last two flights he'd waited, watched while Spencer was claimed by a different man, and then gone back to his day - after a quick trip to the bathing rooms where he'd come almost the moment he'd touched himself, the build up and possibilities having driven him almost to that point all by themselves. The memories of the time he had ended up taking part were still fairly overwhelming, particularly since it had been only days after smiling at Spencer's querying, almost daring face and saying, "Sure Spence. You can have my hot bod any time you need it."

Spencer had crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow. "I can always ask someone else."

"Who? Haley? I don't think that's going to work."

"Very funny. Look Brendon, seriously, you don't have to do this. I'm asking you because I'd be comfortable having you there, but it's your call."

Brendon knew Spencer well enough now to see past the apparent air of impatience and see that he was quite sincere. Though he was comfortable with anyone, regardless of rank, or the size of their dragon, Spencer only really relaxed around friends that he could trust. Brendon valued being one of those who saw him at his most ridiculous and affectionate. It had been no hardship to say 'yes'.

Within a matter of days, Brendon had been summoned to the chamber where the riders were congregated after watching the dragons blood their kill, and then take off into the sky, waiting for the outcome of the flight. He'd stood at the door looking around at the sight before him. _No wonder my parents thought the Weyrs were hives of iniquity._ The arousal filling the room hit Brendon almost like a wall.

Spencer was pacing an elliptical path around the centre of the floor. He was barefoot and clothed only in a pair of thin trousers and an undershirt. His hair was dishevelled - not sleek and shiny like usual. Some clumps were stuck to his flushed face. As he spun on his heel to cross back in front of Brendon, he suddenly tore off his shirt, flinging it away from him, shaking his head back to flick the hair out of his eyes. Brendon tried to smile encouragingly at him, but Spencer's eyes slid away from him like he didn't even know Brendon was there.

As he continued pacing, Spencer snarled at the other riders, who moved in closer towards him. Some of them were naked, some still partly clothed. All of them were focused intently on Spencer, palming their erections and reaching out as if hoping to just touch a fingertip to his hot skin.

Dragon flights were legend, of course, spoken of only in hushed and horrified tones when he was growing up. His parents considered the Weyrs to be a necessary evil, keeping the debauchery cloistered, away from the decent folk of the Holds. He couldn't imagine what they would do if they ever learnt of his involvement.

It had been distressing enough for them to realise that Brendon fully intended to study at the Harper Hall, that being fostered to another land Hold had not killed his desire for music, for studying and learning and _knowing more_. When he had accepted the apprenticeship without their support, he had honestly thought they'd never speak to him again.

The relative freedom of the Harper Hall had made Brendon a little giddy at first. He had stayed up all night, just because he could. He had flirted with boys and girls, gone to Gathers, bought bright clothing. Just because he could. Eventually he'd slept his way through those who were willing and available; he'd learnt as much as he could from the Masters, and he'd still wanted to see more of the world.

Walking the tables as a Journeyman, several years before his peers, had been yet another step forward, but he'd worried. Was he too young to be a _proper_ Harper? Would the Masterharper send him back to his family's hold? Would he be confined to teaching reluctant children in a hidebound backwater? Instead, Patrick, the Composition Master, had approached, asked _his_ thoughts on coming with him to the Weyr. He'd leapt at the chance. Literally leapt into Patrick's arms, sending the short, stocky harper crashing back against the sandtable and scattering scrolls and writing tools across the floor.

"I'll take that as a 'Yes' then, shall I?" had been Patrick's response as he'd retrieved his hat and resettled it on his head.

Getting to see the Dragons; to live amongst them every day; to meet the folk of the Weyr and feel so accepted and even _welcomed_ , had been an amazing thing. In the Turn and a half that he'd been here he had made deeper friendships than he'd ever known. And living with the Weyr's open attitude to sex and physical companionship had felt like he'd finally been able to exhale; to relax and be himself. Instead of being manouveured into an early marriage with some holder's daughter, expected to procreate and work the land, he was free to explore liaisons of different types with different people. Some of his friends were in settled, monogamous relationships, but there was no pressure for him to do the same. The rooms that he shared with Patrick in the Harper's apartment were comfortable and his work was satisfying.

Still, it was one thing to see the dragons blood their kill (and with all the green dragons in the Weyr a dragon was rising to mate nearly every week), but the actual mating flight was an experience he'd never expected to share in, even though he regularly slept with dragonriders.

There were hands all over Spencer. He seemed to be both inviting and threatening at once.

Brendon watched as the energy in the room shifted. One rider in the circle surrounding Spencer had started to move forward, to push the others out of the way. The unsuccessful riders backed off and seemed to disperse before Brendon realised what was happening. Then there were three people left in the middle of the room. A naked woman, who Brendon recognised as one of the weyr healers, was tugging the successful rider away from Spencer and over towards one of the sleeping pallets set up along the wall. She looked up and around the room until she saw Brendon standing, still in the doorway. She nodded at him, quickly, and turned her attention back to the man in front of her, obviously familiar with him and with _this_ , submitting herself easily to his urgent hands and dragon-lust.

Spencer was left standing alone, eyes closed, face contorted in a scowl as he swayed and ran his hands through his hair.

"Hey. Get a move on."

Brendon felt like he jumped a dragonlength in the air and turned to Zack. "Shit. Dude! You almost gave me a heart attack!"

"Seriously, Brendon, if you are here for Spencer then he needs you right now. If this is going to be too much for you, you'd better speak up, so we can get someone else. He can't lose contact with his dragon. If he does, she might go _between_... "

Zack was a great Weyrlingmaster. He took his duties seriously, and still looked after the younger riders who had graduated to the Wings. He was looking around at the other riders that were making their way out of the room. Brendon realised he was looking for someone to step in for him. He thought Brendon was going to flake out, as though he was just some flirty journeyman who was in it for the thrill.

"Right! No! I am totally up for this." Brendon nodded vigorously, and bounced on his toes.

It was just that Spencer looked so... _different_ to the Spencer that Brendon knew. He wasn't the self-assured guy who had befriended Brendon in his early days in the Weyr. _That_ Spencer was competent and sarcastic; quick to joke and taken with weird obsessions; switching easily from loyal friend to relaxed lover.

This Spencer was ruffled and on edge. There was an aggressive desperation to his movements.

He stretched his head out to the side and rolled it to the other shoulder.

Brendon watched the long line of his neck, thinking how Spencer loved to lick his skin and run his hands up and down Brendon's arms. He swallowed.

It was like his brain and his cock couldn't agree on what was going on.

"Well, get moving, little harper man." Zack pushed him forward and he stumbled towards Spencer.

Okay, he could totally do this. Spencer needed him. Spencer had asked _him_. He had other friends, and other lovers, but he'd asked Brendon.

Just then Spencer made a whining, distressed sound. It shocked Brendon into action. It reminded him that this was SpencerMiloth, not just Spencer.

He closed the space between them, suddenly confident and sure of what he had to do.

He knew he needed to mirror the intent - if not the actions - of the male rider, now forcefully taking hold of the healerwoman who was his partner. Spencer writhed against his grip, trying to snake away from him, daring Brendon to hold on tighter. And then, in concert with the other couple in the room, and the other couple in the air, Spencer went from fighting against him, from still needing to be 'won', to relinquishing control - vocal and responsive - surrendering to Brendon's physical directions.

The details were still hazy in his memory, but Brendon remembered turning Spencer around, holding him firmly around the chest with one arm and pushing him down onto the soft rushes of the bedding, and holding him there. Holding him and taking him and letting him fly with Miloth while she fell through the sky, carried on the strong beat of her partner's wings. Feeling the echo of Miloth's orgasm washing over Spencer was the most intense sensation Brendon had ever had.

 

~

 

The last of the children tumbled out through the door, leaving the main room in the Harpers' Quarters quiet for the first time since classes began that morning. Brendon gathered up the various drumsticks and pipes left scattered about the room, putting them in their places on the shelves and tidying up the sand table and song hides.

"Hey, stranger."

Brendon turned to see Shane leaning in the entryway, arms folded, warm smile on his face.

"Stranger yourself, man! Where were you last night?" Brendon walked over to right a seat that had been knocked over by the rush of leaving students. "Lead a boy on and then stand him up? That shit is not cool!"

He stood up on his toes and licked Shane's nose, spinning out of reach when he grabbed at Brendon's arm. Shane walked over and once again reached for Brendon. He let his hand slide gently down from Brendon's shoulder until he was holding his wrist. Brendon rubbed his cheek on Shane's chest before moving away to continue straightening up the room.

"It's fine. I caught up with Spence. He's been pretty busy, lately. Boy is in demand!"

"He sure is. A few on my Wing are angling to be in on his next flight. Marks are on Rubano and Bayth at the moment. He's managed to partner up with Miloth on duties the last few weeks."

The politics of who got a chance at the mating flight was not an area Brendon wanted to get into right now.

"So..." Brendon wheedled. "Last night? Where'd you go?"

"Well, you know...I was with Regan."

Brendon grinned at him. He didn't want Shane to think he was worried about that. Shane and Regan were sweet together. They had a real chance at settling down as weyr-mates. Brendon wasn't going to mess with that.

"That's cool. Really! You have fun?"

"Brendon." Shane paused until he was looking at him. "I was hoping you would come find me. Us."

"Oh." Did that mean... what he thought it meant?

Shane scrunched up his face into an expression of exaggerated query.

"So... what about we try again? Tonight?"

Brendon knew he was beaming. He couldn't say he'd never hoped for exactly this opportunity.

"It's a date."

"Awesome."

The happy bubble in Brendon's stomach deflated slightly as he remembered what Patrick had told him that morning.

"It might be a late one, though."

"Oh?

"There's been a meeting with some of the Weyrleaders and Craftmasters here today. A few of them are staying until tomorrow, so we have to entertain and amuse after dinner."

"A harper has a hard life."

"It's true! You dragonriders think you have it rough!"

Brendon finished tidying up, directing Shane to line the chairs up along the stone wall. When they were done, he hooked his thumb through one of the belt loops on Shane's wher-hide pants and walked with him to the dining cavern, ready to eat well, in preparation for a very long night.

 

~

 _Thankyou to[](http://maple-mahogany.livejournal.com/profile)[ **maple_mahogany**](http://maple-mahogany.livejournal.com/) and [](http://miss-diverse.livejournal.com/profile)[**miss_diverse**](http://miss-diverse.livejournal.com/) for the read throughs and to [](http://barmy-bunk.livejournal.com/profile)_[**barmy_bunk**](http://barmy-bunk.livejournal.com/) for the beta.


	4. Ficlet Four: Brian & Ficlet Five: Bob Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ficlet Four: Brian is at the Weyr. Bob is not.
> 
> Ficlet Five: Bob talks to a dragon.

**Rating:** Not Intended for Children  
 **Pairing:** None  
 **Warnings:** None  
 **Words:** 1300  


  
**Brian**

~

Brian made his way through the crowded dining cavern, looking for a place to eat.

He tried not to catch the eye of the tall, white bearded Craftmaster seated one table over from where Brian was standing. Every time they came to one of these meetings, the Farmercraft Master would end up talking his ear off about his idea for a new plough. Brian didn't think he could stand it. He found it so much easier when these things weren't held in the Weyr, then he could bring Bob with him. Bob would glare at people and they would walk away. Brian missed Bob.

Still, it would be cruel to even suggest he come. Much less ride here on dragonback.

Rogers had just noticed Brian and put his hand up to wave him over when Brian caught sight of a peaked leather hat. Patrick wasn't sitting with the other Craftmasters. Instead it looked like he had joined some of his friends from the Weyr; Brian could see some dragonriders and healers. Well, even making small talk with a bunch of Patrick's friends seemed like a better deal than discussing blade metal compounds with a farmer. He ducked his head and headed over.

"Schechter!" Patrick half stood, hampered by the long bench held still by the others sitting on it. "Thought you'd come and join the riff-raff?"

Across the table from Patrick, a tiny dragonrider with mutlicoloured hair shuffled herself and her friends along, indicating that he was welcome to take a seat with them. Brian did with a nod of thanks. Patrick introduced him to those he did not yet know, and he leant forward to grasp forearms with those he did, including the Wingleader sitting to Patrick's right.

"Pete. Nice to see you, man"

"And you! You came alone, I presume?" Pete looked around as if Brian might be hiding Bob behind his back.

"Just me. Bob's keeping things under control at the Hall while I'm gone."

"Sure thing. I heard he pretty much hides there all the time, now."

"Bob's not hiding. He's working." Brian knew Pete fairly well. His heart was in the right place, and he was an excellent Wingleader, but sometimes he didn't know when to let something drop. The best thing to do would just be ignore him.

"Yeah. Of course, of course." Pete reached over and snagged a jug of klah, filling a cup for himself and one for Patrick. "Hey, Patrick, you should go back with Schechter. Say 'Hi' to Bryar for us."

He could feel the riders around him wanting to ask questions. Most of the Wing Bob had flown with had since transferred across to the Weyr on the other coast, so most of these people only knew him by reputation, but it was understandable; losing their dragon was every rider's deepest fear. Nothing could compare to it. They all wanted to know how and why Bob had kept going; why he'd chosen to go into Brian's craft, rather than back to the Harper Hall where he'd started his training, or even just home to the Hold he grew up in. Brian really had no answers for them. And even if Bob was gruff and withdrawn, not a practical joker like the boy Brian had grown up with, he was just happy to have someone as dependable and hard-working as Bob as his journeyman.

"Just because he can't come here, doesn't mean we shouldn't pay him a visit, right?"

"Leave it, Pete," mumbled Patrick as he took a sip of his hot drink.

Conversation gradually picked back up around them as Brian ate. It was a little awkward.

The lunch itself made it all worthwhile. Brian looked down the length of the table. There were platters of meat, and mounds of soft, fresh bread, pots of succulent sauces and gravies. He almost wished he could get an artist to draw this, so that he could remember it the next time he was chewing and chewing and chewingchewingchewing on the stew that was served in his own Hall.

The meal came to an end, and the Weyrleader made his way around the cavern, checking that all the visitors had transport home.

"We would be honoured to take you home, Master Schechter," offered a brown rider at their table.

"Nate, dude! You are on watch duty this afternoon and you _know_ it!" Pete crowed at him."Why would you try to pull that shit right in front of me?"

"Okay, Wentz," the chastised rider mumbled., "It was worth a try."

"I'm not on duty today."

Brian leant forward to look down the table and see who had spoken. He recognised the young rider that had accompanied Rubano several times delivering equipment to the smitcrafthall.

Before he could reply, another rider laughed and replied to him, "He's a Craft Master, Spencer. He ranks higher than a _green_."

A pink flush started to appear across the green rider's cheeks. His lips thinned and his nostrils flared as he sucked in a breath, and then sat back out of Brian's eyeline.

"That'd be great. Thank you, ahh... Spencer." Brian looked over at Pete. His eyes were narrowed as he glared down the table. "Wentz, that all fine with you?"

Pete turned back to him and nodded. They both hated that rank bullshit. Brian hoped that he tore strips off that arrogant dim glow. "I'll go and pay my respects to the Weyrleader and we can be on our way."

~

Brian was used to flying on a larger dragon, but he still loved this; coming out of _between_ and hovering high enough in the air to see the entire Hall laid out below him. When he was a boy, Brian had always wanted to be a dragonrider. It seemed such an exciting life. He'd imagined himself fighting Thread on a flaming dragon, tilting and turning on a wingtip.

He leant to the side, out from behind the shoulder of the young rider seated in front of him, and took the full force of the streaming air onto his face. He breathed in deeply.

The watchwher was greeting the dragon, and a few of the members of the Hall were coming out into the square to welcome him home and get a chance to look at the dragon. The rider, Spencer, grinned at Brian over his shoulder, and then called, "Hold on!" Brian had just enough time to grab the straps before they went into a spectacular spiralling descent.

"Show-off!" Brian yelled. Shells but he loved this. It felt like it was him flying, not the dragon. He loved his Hall, and cared about his Craft; he never resented the time spent in the hot, smoky hearth, but this freedom, and this pure adrenalin rush made him feel acutely alive.

The dragon landed gracefully, and Brian braced himself, less gracefully. Spencer took his arm to steady him as he swung one leg over the neck ridges to slide down to the leg and then onto the ground. He raised his fist in salute and thanks to both Spencer and his dragon.

Spencer grinned and returned the gesture, calling out, "Any time, Master Schechter!" as Brian stepped back to allow them room to turn around.

He was just ushering several apprentices back to the protection of the wall, watching over his shoulder as the dragon took several steps, wings stretched out, working up momentum to spring off from the ground, when a huge explosion blew the shutters off a window across the square. Brian threw himself down, covering the heads of those closest to him.

He heard a dreadful shriek and looked up in time to see Spencer being tossed into the air and the dragon tumbling over, her wing stuck at an unnatural angle beneath her.

 

~  
 **Words:** 1370  
 **Summary:** Bob talks to a dragon.

 

  
**Bob Again**

~

 

The sound of the furnace exploding was still ringing in Bob's ears. He clapped his hands over them, trying to shut out the screaming and yelling. He really needed a second to get his thoughts straight. Nothing could block out the distressed call that echoed through his mind.

_PENTH!_

The dragon was in pain. And panicking.

Fuck.

He ran up the stairs and pushed past a bunch of people jammed in the doorway. They were all just standing there not doing a fucking thing.

Someone pushed Bob out of the way. He turned to complain, but saw that it was the Hall's Healer, so he flattened himself against the wall instead to let her pass.

The noise in his head was almost deafening enough, but it was nothing compared to the actual sound coming out of the dragon lying in the courtyard. For a moment, Bob thought he was going to be sick. He shook his head and squashed his own memories down. Only let himself think about _this_ dragon right now.

He could see that she was injured. Her wing was pulled back and down, something in the joint obviously broken. There was ichor oozing down a hind leg; the bright, liquid green contrasting starkly with the mottled grey/green of her hide. Bob could see the injury that was bleeding. A strut from the shutters had pierced her leg. She was stuck.

She suddenly bellowed even louder, enough so that the remaining shutters rattled in their hinges. Bob ducked just in time to avoid being swiped by her thrashing tail.

_LEAVE HIM! NO!_

Bob broke into a run. Some dimglow was trying to take her rider away. No one here knew a single bloody thing about dragons. No one but him. Fuck.

"STOP!" Bob yelled. "Stop what you're doing!"

"Calm down, Bryar." Healer Morgan was standing in front of him, one hand to his chest, the other trying to grasp one of his flailing arms. She was a good head shorter than he was, but that didn't stop her holding her ground. "We have to get the rider somewhere to treat his injuries. If we don't move him away from the dragon it's going to hurt him more."

Bob knew that all they could hear was furious bellowing, angry and aggressive, but his head was filled with fear and desperate sadness.

"She's not going to hurt him for fuck's sake! But she has to see him or she _will_ hurt _someone_."

Morgan hesitated and glanced over at the distraught dragon. Her neck was stretched out towards the makeshift stretcher being carried by two sturdy smiths. "Okay, Bryar," she nodded and let his arm go.

"Worm! Stop!" Bob ran over to the closer of the two men. "The Healer said to keep him out here."

Smoke was pouring out of the gap in the building and there were hunks of stone scattered across the courtyard. There were so many people shouting alongside the sound of distress echoing around his mind. He felt like his head was going to explode. Where the fuck was Schechter? He'd listen to Bob.

Scanning the courtyard, he could see Brian helping move some of the people who had been hurt when the wall near the windows had collapsed. He kept looking over at the injured dragon and then around, as though he was looking for something. Or someone. His eyes landed on Bob and widened.

Bob couldn't hear him over the chaos, but he could see his lips move as he said firmly, _The dragon! Help the dragon!_

Bob nodded. What else could he do?

He took a deep breath and walked past the bystanders as close as he could get to the swaying head of the dragon and projected as firmly as he could, "Hey. It's going to be all right. Listen to me. He's okay. Calm down."

_They are taking him! He cannot hear me!_

Bob tried to stand where she could see him. Her eyes were whirling with the yellow and grey of fear and pain.

"They are trying to help him. They really need you to keep still, so they can bring him closer. They are worried that you will hurt him."

The dragon's head reared back, giving Bob a chance to step in closer, close enough to rest a hesitant hand on her front leg. The feeling of the hide under his palm was so familiar he felt dizzy.

_I will not hurt him! He is mine! I am his!_

"I know. I know. I told them that. They are trying to help."

_He is hurting and he cannot hear me..._

Bob closed his eyes against the pain that soaked the tone of the voice in his head.

He could hear Brian giving orders behind him, clearing away unnecessary gawkers; urging the healer and her assistants closer to the dragon. _"She's not going to hurt you, dammit, just get him over there!"_

Bob concentrated on thoughts of hope and comfort and started to rub her leg joint. She stilled her head and seemed to lean slightly towards Bob.

They put the stretcher down close enough for her to touch the crumpled figure with her nose. She nudged at his arm, his hair moving with her breath. Her head dwarfed them all. Bob could feel the tumble of emotion she was emitting; confusion and loneliness and worry. He kept reassuring and consoling her, projecting confidence that everything was going to be all right. Her tail gradually stopped thrashing.

Brian crouched next to Healer Morgan. "His name is Spencer. Smith I think."

He then turned to Bob. "How are you doing? Bryar? You okay? Fuck, this must be so... I can't even imagine... "

Brian was rubbing his forehead with the fingers of one hand. He gripped Bob's shoulder with his other one. "It's good you're here. We would have no idea what to do without you."

Bob gave a stiff nod of his head. He knew that was true.

Morgan was leaning forward and cataloguing Smith's injuries. "He's not as bad as he looks, I'd say. Left wrist appears to be broken; there are some abrasions here," she lifted the torn jacket and shirt aside, prodding gently at his torso, "Looks like that strap got caught on his arm and then rubbed along here, burning the skin. The main problem is this contusion on his temple. I think he's concussed. Pulse and colour are fine."

She smiled at Brian, who huffed in relief, and turned to face the gigantic green dragon head. "He's going to be fine," she said clearly, eyes shifting from one enormous eye to the other. "Bob, can she hear me? Does she understand?"

"She can hear you. I don't know if she'll believe you until he wakes up, though."

_He is hurt. And still sleeps. Why does he not speak to me?_

"Now we need to see what we can do for her. I am no Dragon Healer." Morgan stood next to Bob. She smiled a reassuring 'healer smile'. "Where is your pain...?" She hesitated and turned from Bob to Brian. "What is her name?"

Brian rubbed over his face. "The dragon? Shells. I have no idea. Bob?"

They both turned to Bob. He stared back at them.

_I am Miloth. I am glad that you can hear me. You have no dragon._

Bob swallowed against the lump in his chest. He swallowed again and took a deeper breath, trying to steady his voice before he spoke.

"I... I'm glad I can hear you, too, Miloth."

She moved her head until her eye was level with his head. The whirling was slowing down, the grey tinged still with some yellow.

_The healer helps Penth?_

Penth? Ah, Spence. Of course.

"Yes. Healer Morgan... Greta. She is helping him. And she'll help you, too."

_She is kind. She will help him to heal and to wake up._

"She is. She will."

All around them the chaos continued. The journeymen healers were lining up the injured. Brian had been called away to check that there would be no further explosions, and Greta was asking for numbweed, lots of it.

And Bob was speaking with a dragon.

_It is good that you are here._

Bob took another deep breath. He could smell the weyr on Miloth's hide and it was all he could do not to bury his face in it.

"Yeah. I know. It's good."

 

~

 

 _Thankyou to[](http://maple-mahogany.livejournal.com/profile)[ **maple_mahogany**](http://maple-mahogany.livejournal.com/) and [](http://miss-diverse.livejournal.com/profile)[**miss_diverse**](http://miss-diverse.livejournal.com/) for the read throughs and to [](http://barmy-bunk.livejournal.com/profile)_[**barmy_bunk**](http://barmy-bunk.livejournal.com/) for the beta.

 


	5. Greta

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greta has a lot to do.

**Rating:** Not Intended for Children  
 **Pairing:** None (Background Greta/Brian)  
 **Warnings:** None  
 **Words:** 1300  


Ficlet 6

**Greta**

 

"That won't be enough. Get more. All that we have in the stores. Both of you. Go."

Greta's apprentices dashed away, hopping over the strewn bits of rubble and ducking between people as they made for the stairs down into the lower caverns.

She had no idea how much numbweed a dragon needed. She had no idea about dragons at all!

There weren't many times that the Healer was glad to be assigned to a hall with such a high rate of accidents and injuries that it sported its own series of rooms, complete with a store of numbweed and fellis. She was also busy enough to require her to have several journeymen and apprentices studying with her. Right now, though, she was grateful for every one of her craft. They would all be needed.

Looking around at the chaos, Greta had a moment of panic. It was too much. There were so many people with injuries. She could never help them all.

She closed her eyes and quieted her mind, calling on her training in the quiet and contemplative arts. So much of being a Healer was in bringing reassurance, and allowing people to find their own strength to heal. Greta could hear Brian near her, organising and coordinating. He sounded strong and authoritive. She knew not to worry over him. He would do his job. She would do hers. The panic receded. She breathed deep and slow, in and out, and then opened her eyes again. She would prioritise, and organise. All would be well.

"Darren, please go and find all the fellis juice that we have. Don't run with it. If it spills it's useless. Emily, take Chris with you and find the most badly injured for immediate attention. And please get someone to find me a ladder." Greta spoke slowly, taking care that none of her instructions would be misunderstood. She tried to imbue her words with confidence, looking each of her healers in the eye and receiving nods of affirmation back. They would be calm if she was calm.

The giant tail had stilled, making it much easier for Greta to assess the state of the poor creature, lying awkwardly with its wing half unfurled, crooning piteously at her rider. Greta was relieved. She'd been right to listen to Bob. Bringing her rider back had done much to calm the dragon. She was no longer thrashing, which made everything far easier.

"Miloth, will you let the Healer look at your leg? You've been hurt."

Bob spoke quietly amidst the chaos, but it didn't seem to matter. The great green head turned towards Greta, and then settled back, keeping vigil over her rider. Somehow, she had heard him and agreed.

Greta allowed herself a moment to consider Bob's face. She had seen him through much of his struggle, and had ached for him, for his loss. His lips were drawn tight and he was scowling and closed off, but he was coping. For now. She didn't doubt for a moment that this was immensely difficult for him, but she knew that Bob would do what he needed to do.

Greta took a breath and turned. She would reassure herself of Bob's state of mind later. Right now her priority was to try and help Miloth, before she caused more injury to herself and others.

The apprentices arrived carrying a large crate full to the brim with pots of numbweed. She took one of the containers in her hand and looked up at the huge expanse of dragonhide in front of her, shiny ichor staining the flank.

Greta had never been this close to a dragon. The musky scent from its hide was evident even over the stench of the smoke and dust and blood. She hoped that the drums calling for assistance had included the need for a dragonhealer. There was only so much assistance she was prepared to risk. But a healer always did what they could to relieve suffering. It was what they were pledged to do.

A refrain from one of the healer teaching songs came to her mind, _What affects the dragon, affects its rider, and as the rider feels, so does his friend_.

Whatever helped one, helped the other.

One of the burlier smithcrafters, Worm, arrived carrying the ladder. He steadied it as she climbed and, for the first time in her life, touched a dragon. She kept speaking to Miloth as she used a large wooden paddle to cover the wound with a thick coating of the ointment. She had no idea at all if the dragon could hear her or not, but it seemed important to reassure her as much as possible. There was no point to her trying by herself to remove the object lodged into the bunched muscle of the massive haunch. Greta inspected as far as she could see, treating a number of other smaller scrapes and burns, and then made her way back down to the ground.

Greta turned her attention back to the figure on the stretcher at her feet. Her next task was to tend to the contusion on the young man's temple. She began by washing the blood and grime off his face, and slathering the wound with numbweed before covering it, lifting his head to wrap the bandage around, securing the dressing.

The rider - Spencer, Brian had said - was young; caught in that time between adolescence and adulthood. She guessed him to be about 20 turns old. He had a strong jaw, but a gentle looking mouth. She thought she'd seen him before, possibly on other errands for the Weyr. Green dragons were usually used as messengers.

His limbs were long. One leg was splayed to the side, the foot almost falling from the makeshift bed, and the uninjured arm had been bent to keep it out of the way, elegant fingers resting on the slight round of his stomach. Greta picked up the other arm, carefully supporting the break. She was relieved that, for the moment, Spencer remained unconscious. This was much easier to do when the patient wasn't struggling.

Brian knelt down beside her as she worked to get the bones angled as well as possible and the arm strapped to a board to keep them still as they healed.

"How are you doing? Do you need anything else?"

He was rubbing his eyes, and stretching his head from side to side. Greta was sure he would have a headache before the day was out. If her hands weren't busy, she would have kneaded his shoulders, and massaged his temples to soothe away the worst of the strain. Maybe there would be time, later.

"I am almost done here. Has anyone notified the Weyr?"

Brian nodded, squinting up at the skies as though her words could summon help from the clouds. "We drummed to the Hold. They will have passed the message on by now."

Greta was starting to bandage up over the dressing and the splint, when her patient started to squirm.

"Miloth!" He gasped, evidently fighting off the effects of the fall and fellis juice. Greta hurried to finish tending his arm, steadying him as he sat up and swayed.

"You don't want to fall over, Spencer," she said firmly. "Let's not risk another blow to the head!"

She watched as he struggled to his feet and flung himself at his dragon.

All around her there were cries for assistance, for healers. Brian had placed his hand briefly against the back of her neck, squeezing gently before striding away, summoned to try and bring more order to the chaos that surrounded them.

A rush of cold air stirred the dust at her feet and Greta looked up. Her heart lifted with relief at the sight above of two magnificent dragons. She had never felt so grateful for their ability to travel _between_ in an instant. And then the courtyard seemed to be completely full of wings.

Assistance had come. All really would be well.

 

 

 _Thankyou to[](http://miss-diverse.livejournal.com/profile)[ **miss_diverse**](http://miss-diverse.livejournal.com/) for the read through and [](http://maple-mahogany.livejournal.com/profile)[**maple_mahogany**](http://maple-mahogany.livejournal.com/) (serious snogs for this one) and to [](http://barmy-bunk.livejournal.com/profile)_[**barmy_bunk**](http://barmy-bunk.livejournal.com/) for the beta.

 


	6. Spencer Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spencer is going crazy

**Rating:** Not Intended for Children (Some Adult Language, Sexual Themes)  
 **Pairing:** None (future Spencer/Bob)  
 **Warnings:** None  
 **Words:** 3050  


  
**Spencer Again**

Spencer walked around the edge of the courtyard. He kept his eyes down to ensure he didn't make eye contact with any of those working on the new wall and window on the other side of the square. He continued on until he was also out of view from the main hall. Placing his good hand on a ledge, he wedged one foot firmly into a convenient notch and swung himself up, keeping himself hidden behind the piles of stone from the rebuilding efforts.

He wasn't hiding. Not really. He just needed a break.

He needed a break from the looks and the whispering and the not belonging. He couldn't get a break from the loneliness, which was at its peak when Miloth was asleep and Healer Morgan was busy with other duties, but he could sit here and relax in the sun and let his guard down for just a fucking minute.

He considered finding the Hall's Harper, and getting him to write a letter for him. But to who? He thought of Brendon, and Haley. He thought of Zack and Pete. He knew the Weyr had gotten word of his injuries and enforced stay, but he wondered if they missed him, like he missed them. He thought of his sisters, and even his foster brother, Ryan, who he hadn't seen since he'd Impressed Miloth. He thought it would be nice to see his mother.

It had only been ten days since the accident, and Spencer was pretty sure he was going out of his shell. Never had he done so little. He and Miloth had been grounded for at least three sevendays, to allow her wing and wrenched muscles to heal. It rankled on him. He'd grown up busy in a farming hold, and then at the Weyr after he'd been searched. Even before he Impressed Miloth there had always been occupation. Since then, of course, his entire life had been a whirl of training and caring for his dragon and messenger duties and every other thing that went with being a dragonrider.

And now he was just... here.

Master Schechter had given him leave to assist with the building work or sit in with the apprentices while they were doing their training, but there was only so much he could do with one hand. His other was still strapped to a board, and resting in a sling that hung around his neck. It didn't hurt much, if he kept it still. At least he favoured his right hand for most things.

Poor Miloth couldn't help with any heavy lifting. Or fly. The watchdragon from the nearby Hold had brought two large wherries for her to feed on since she couldn't hunt, but her appetite was not at all what it usually was.

Spencer would take her on walks, balance unsteady with an awkward wing and sore leg, to keep her exercised. He tried to stay positive, concentrating on feelings of happiness at her continued recovery, and confidence that they would soon be home in their weyr. She had a typical dragon's memory, and found it difficult to understand how much longer they would be confined to this place. Every couple of days he had to again convince her to stay on the ground, that it wasn't worth possibly exacerbating her injuries by even _trying_ to fly.

_I can go between very quickly. I would hardly need to fly at all!_

Shells. He hadn't realised she was listening in on his thoughts.

"No, Miloth. It's the take off that would the most dangerous part. You could be hurt even worse. We don't want to be stuck on the ground any longer than we have to."

As frustrating as it was, Spencer was glad that she had no real memory of the explosion, of being thrown into the air. He kept replaying the feeling of the flying strap snapping and burning across his chest, and of waking up to see people everywhere, and the ground scattered with debris.

_I remember calling to you. I remember that you could not hear me. That you would not speak._

Spencer closed his eyes. _I am sorry, Miloth. I hear you now. Everything is okay now._

The image of smoke billowing through the hole in the wall, of the chaos and disaster came to mind, and Spencer opened his eyes and shook his head to clear it away.

_And I remember that the other one stayed with me and let me know that you were not gone._

That had been the strangest part. If Bryar hadn't been there, Spencer doesn't know how different things might have been. After all that time he had spent wondering about Bryar, imagining what he was really like, Spencer was aware of how surreal it was to now be spending time with him.

_He talked to the Healers and wouldn't let them take you from me._

_Yes. I know._ Spencer was very grateful for that. They owed him so much.

_He knew what might happen if they took you away. He has very sad memories in his heart._

Bryar was so ... intriguing. More so now that Spencer had the chance of spending time with him each day. The sadness followed him around, and Spencer was never sure if he was making it all worse by his very presence. But then every now and then, Spencer would catch him off guard and he would bark out a genuine laugh. His voice was furry and of a lighter tone than expected. Spencer would talk to him sometimes; ask him questions, trying to get a response. Most of the time the response came in grunts and shrugs. Bryar would scowl and glare at the floor rather than at Spencer's face.

He squirmed against the rock he was sitting on and shook his hair back out of his eyes. The rock was warm along his thighs and the sun shone on the back of his neck.

If he leant to the left he had a good sight line into the work room of the main hall. He could see Bryar there being all focused, concentrating on the piece he was working with. He had capable hands; not as beefy as his build suggested, almost sensitive looking.

Spencer could still recall the feeling of Bryar's hand on his upper arm as the Weyr Dragonhealer had set the bone in Miloth's wing. A wave of echoed pain had washed over him, and he had felt his head spin. His stomach had heaved, the ground suddenly appearing at the wrong angle. Another hand had held his hip until he got his balance. It had felt good. He didn't move away.

And when a voice had murmured in his ear, "Pe... Smith. Stay calm. She needs that," Spencer had turned his head and locked eyes with Bryar. There had been so much pain there. Loss. But Bryar had nodded, and Spencer's head had moved in agreement. Up. Down. Yes he could stay calm. Of course he could. He _always_ stayed calm. You could ask anyone he knew!

"That's good. Well, tell your dragon that, Smith. She's the one who needs to know right now."

He must have spoken aloud.

Bryar's arms had been steady and strong around him. He wasn't as tall as Spencer had always assumed, but Spencer still fit comfortably against his chest.

Spencer watched as Bryar pushed up his sleeves and wiped his forehead on his forearm. The workroom was obviously hotter than where Spencer was sitting, because Bryar shook the sleeves back down and then shrugged out of his hooded jacket. Spencer couldn't recall having seen him in just a tunic, with his arms bare like that.

He leant further, hoping to get a clearer view. Bryar turned his head and Spencer ducked back, his heart beating loudly in his ears. He really hoped he hadn't been seen. He sat, frozen for a few minutes, wondering if he dared look again. What if Bryar had taken off the tunic? He might be standing with no shirt at all. Spencer really didn't want to miss that.

He shook his head. What the shards was he thinking?

So, he was obviously very bored _and_ horny.

Yeah. He was definitely horny. It was just so _strange_ being here. And as well as not having his usual occupations, Spencer didn't have his usual _outlets_.

Life as a dragonrider had a certain freedom that he certainly hadn't witnessed in the Hall. And life as a _green_ dragonrider had a particular identity and expectation. He was safe to seek as many casual or meaningful attachments as he was comfortable with. The more at ease a greenrider was with their sexual identity, the more easily they could meet the needs of their dragon, and support her in her mating cycle.

Spencer was more than comfortable with all of that, in the Weyr. He was one of many, for a start; there were over a hundred green dragonriders in his Weyr. Here he was one; an oddity.

On the one hand he was deferred to and treated as an honoured guest on the basis of his rank as a rider. He was invited to dine with the journeymen and women, even though most of the apprentices were more his age.

On the other hand, most of the people of the Hall had only the most lurid and superstitious knowledge of weyr life, and the bolder of them seemed to think they were at liberty to make comments and suggestions to him, mostly based on the assumptions that either he was available to any who took a passing interest, or that they were all in danger of him bending them to his perverted will.

Master Schechter had made an effort to dismiss these degrading beliefs, and always treated Spencer with the politest and warmest of courtesies. He was fairly new to the post of Mastersmith, though, and evidently was fighting his own battles against longstanding prejudices.

There had been one situation several days previously as Spencer had made his way between the tables to take his meal with Healer Morgan. He'd had to angle sideways to slip through the space where a bench was pushed out a little from the table. It was difficult not to brush against the men seated on either side, and as he lifted his arms to wiggle through a hand had suddenly grabbed hold of his arse, squeezing the cheek painfully hard before stroking down his thigh. Spencer had squawked and jumped and turned to see who had touched him. Two gangly apprentices were busy falling over each other laughing as a third put on an expression of defiant unconcern and let his eyes slide over Spencer's body from head to foot.

Spencer had summoned his dragonrider pride and drawn himself to his full height before meeting the young man's gaze, holding it, and tilting his head to one side. He examined him for a few moments before taking a breath and granting himself a small eye roll, hiding the wince as it pulled on bruised tissue in his temple.

"I _really_ don't think so." Spencer had shrugged his shoulders dismissively before continuing on his way. He could feel his stomach muscles quivering from holding in the tension, and made a point of keeping his gait relaxed and slow. Behind him there was a roar of laughter. He hoped the flush wasn't showing on his cheeks.

Suddenly the jeering had died down. Spencer couldn't resist the urge to look over his shoulder and see what had happened. Bryar was standing there, glaring at the group. He had continued staring until each of them had turned back to their meal and started eating in silence.

Spencer hadn't had any trouble in the dining hall since, but he still avoided the apprentices as much as he could.

Spencer wondered briefly what Bryar's dragon had been like. What he'd been like in a mating flight. He wouldn't have minded that outcome. Before he had a chance to be shocked at himself, Miloth replied.

_I would have liked that, too. This one is strong. I'm sure his Dradineth would have flown well and caught me. Even though I am very fast._

Spencer gasped and coughed on nothing. As he shook his head, a thought occurred to him. _How did you know his dragon's name?_ It was vaguely familiar to him; he must have heard it when he first heard Bryar's story in his early days at the Weyr.

_I asked this one. He told me._

_Miloth! I can't believe you..._

_He was not angry with me. It was good for him to speak of Dradineth. No one here remembers his name with him._

_Still!_

Miloth was supremely unrepentant, and didn't offer any other information to Spencer.

He wondered what else Miloth knew.

His body felt charged and restless, and for a moment Spencer considered quickly taking the edge off the constant sexual frustration, and enjoying a quick release. He was well hidden, after all.

Spencer leant cautiously back over to look into the workroom. He couldn't see Bryar at all now.

He found himself wondering again, what it would have been like if Bryar's Dradineth had flown Miloth. He squirmed and rubbed himself through his trousers.

A large bell rang, signalling the start of the tenth hour. Spencer sighed and took his hand away. It was almost time to see the healers, and then he would need to take Miloth for a walk.

Spencer wriggled forward using his heels to pull himself along until he was close enough to the edge of the outcrop to push off with his working arm and jump down.

He felt weary already even though he hadn't done anything. Maybe after lunch he and Miloth would nap. And that would be another day in the Smithcraft Hall.

~

When Spencer finished his daily session with Healer Morgan, having his dressings changed and his arm checked over, he walked out and saw Bryar standing next to Miloth, one hand leaning on her knee joint as he stretched over to rub her eye ridge.

Spencer stopped several paces away, tried to fold his arms - before remembering why that wasn't possible - and then settled with a hand resting on one hip, taking all his weight on that leg.

_I have an itch. He knows just the place to scratch._

Miloth's eyes were partly lidded and whirling a contented blue.

Spencer was hit by a wave of something uncomfortable in his stomach, and his chest felt tight.

He cleared his throat and spoke aloud to Miloth, "I should get some oil. Can't neglect your hide just because we're not going between."

Bryar leapt back in surprise, snatching his hand off Miloth's leg. His eyes were really blue, almost exactly the same shade as Miloth's.

"She had an itch."

"Yes, I know. She told me."

Bryar's eyes narrowed for a moment and Spencer wondered if he saw a flicker of confusion cross his face.

 _You are angry? With him? Are you angry with me?_ Miloth crooned and limped closer to him, whuffling breath over his face.

Immediately, Spencer felt awful. He didn't want either of them feeling bad. He wasn't even sure what the problem was. It was impossible that he was feeling _jealous_ of his dragon! Her love for him was as much a part of him as his heartbeat. He felt ridiculous.

"Hey, I'll go." Bob interrupted his thoughts. "I shouldn't have just... without you here..."

Spencer could feel Miloth worrying about Bryar. Spencer felt like shit.

"No it's fine. Don't go. I... I'm glad she has someone else to talk to." Spencer reached a hand towards Bryar, but he didn't mirror the action. "And I guess... I'm glad you get to talk to her.'

Bryar's face softened. His eyes were still sad, but there was definitely a hint of a smile as he turned and looked away to the side. Spencer swallowed and took another step closer, again reaching his hand out. He wrapped his fingers around Bryar's wrist, turning his hand flat, and then slid his own palm across it. Despite all the time they'd spent together, it was the first time they'd touched since the day of the accident when Spencer had been held so snugly into Bryar's chest, steady and strong. He hoped that offering a formal introduction was an appropriate apology for all the insensitivity and selfishness he'd displayed. His skin was warm.

He finished the slide and then quickly returned his hand to Bryar's wrist, not sure if he was offering comfort or requesting it. Bryar curled his fingers up and gently squeezed. It didn't really seem to matter either way.

The jealousy in Spencer's gut drained away, leaving something else altogether. He remembered the image that had come to his mind earlier, of Bryar, caught up in the thrall of a mating flight. He ducked his head and blinked it away. His heart started beating faster.

Spencer heard a sharp intake of breath, and looked up through his lashes to see Bryar biting his lip.

Spencer stood still, not wanting to take his hand away, but not wanting to push things too far. He didn't want Bryar thinking that all those people with their taunts and prejudices were right. He didn't want to just be some proddy green rider.

He wanted Bryar to know that he was honestly wanting to be his friend. That he enjoyed his company. This whole thing would have been so much easier if Bryar hadn't also been standing there with his dragon-blue eyes and his halo of soft gingery-blond hair and his strong, capable arms.

_You are also attractive, Penth._

_Thank you,_ he thought with a huff. _But there's no reason to think that Bryar is interested in me apart from you._

_He should be interested in you. He would enjoy sleeping with you very much._

A flush appeared on Bryar's cheeks.

 _What are you doing?_ Spencer thought sternly at her. It was not right for a dragon to take so much initiative.

Miloth stretched her neck and rested her head down on her folded front legs.

_I do not know why you are cross. It has been many days that you have not been with someone. It would be good for both of you._

_Son of a watchwher, Miloth. Stop trying to set me up!_

Bryar cleared his throat.

"I'm going to... I'll be."

He looked down to where his hand was still covered by Spencer's. With another cough, he let go and shoved his hands deep into his pockets and took a step back before turning on his heel and retreating into the Hall.

"Miloth, I can't believe you."

_He is not angry, so you should not be angry._

Spencer wilted at the hesitant tone of his dragon's voice.

"I'm not... I'm not angry." He leant against her neck, burying his face in her hide. "This isn't easy for you, either."

He enjoyed the feeling of Miloth's rumbling as it vibrated along her throat.

 _I still have an itch,_ she said, placidly. _Right there._

 

~

 _Thankyou to[](http://maple-mahogany.livejournal.com/profile)[ **maple_mahogany**](http://maple-mahogany.livejournal.com/) for all the hand holding and advice, and to [](http://barmy-bunk.livejournal.com/profile)_[**barmy_bunk**](http://barmy-bunk.livejournal.com/) for the beta.

 


	7. Miloth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miloth cannot fly.

**Rating:** Not Intended for Children (Adult Language, Sexual Themes)  
 **Pairing:** None (Spencer/Bob if you squint)  
 **Warnings:** None  
 **Words:** 1160  


 

  
**Miloth**

~

 

The stone of Miloth's makeshift weyr is not very warm. She doesn't mind so much in the morning when the sun is shining directly on it, but by late afternoon it has no life left in it at all.

She knows that there is no need to let her hide feed on the heat today, to fend off the cold of _between_ , since they are not permitted to fly _at all_ for a very long time. It has already been many days, and her Penth says that it will be many more.

A dragon must fly. This is why they have wings. She has told Penth this, and he has laughed, with a happy face and a sad heart, and said that she is still a dragon whether they fly today or not.

Miloth does not like it when Penth's words and his feelings do not tell her the same thing. It is like flying through a cloud, and forgetting where the ground is.

She trusts him, though, no matter how confusing things may be, because he is her rider. He is the second heart that beats outside of her body, just as he has been since she came out of her shell. She can remember hearing him before she saw him. She remembers feeling his excitement and his longing, and knowing that she would always be able to be proud of him, and that he would love her as she should be loved. She had known and she had found him, pushing past the others who were in her way. She remembers his delighted surprise.

"Me? Really?"

 _But of course, you!_ she had replied. _Who else?_ .

And so he tells her that she is getting better, and that after more days have passed they will be back in their weyr. And she believes him, and she walks with him and does not fly.

There are many things that her Penth explains to her. He is patient. Some of them are very difficult to understand. Like the way that the people here are not like the people at the Weyr, and the way that they have so many customs that bring them pain. She does not understand why they hide their desires and why they consider it rude to be honest, and polite to hide behind fear.

She feels a lot of fear in the people when they are near her, but the fear does not mean that the people show her courtesy. They do not acknowledge her when they pass by. They do not speak to her. But they mutter and whisper to each other. Do they not know that she has ears?

She can Hear whoever she chooses to. Not always in words, but in intent. She knows who is happy and who is sad, and those who are carrying around lies in their hearts.

There are some people who are interesting to Listen to. The healer with the kind heart thinks on many things, and carries her thoughts around with her like rainbows. She is someone who would be able to Hear. She uses her Listening with people who are in pain. Miloth does not know how she does it, but it is a pleasant puzzle to consider through the long afternoons.

The small Master has so many thoughts in his mind that he would not have the space and the quiet to be able to Hear. She still likes him, though, because he is polite, and he cares. One day, Miloth thinks that she may Speak to him. It would be amusing. He desires many experiences in life. Perhaps Hearing a dragon would make him smile.

She Listens to the other one. The one who has no dragon. She can hear him dreaming. He dreams about his Dradineth who is no more, and he dreams about her Penth. Penth kisses him, on the mouth, and all over his body. It is a very good dream.

The sky is almost completely dark now and Miloth is not warm. She wishes to sleep. She longs to be soothed into the deep sleep they both enjoy after her Penth has found release. The rippling echoes of satisfaction and contentment always pulse pleasantly through her mind and body. It is not the same release that they share when she is flying, held in the air by the wings of another, but the bright sparkle of that moment is still good.

It has been a very long time since she had a mate. She remembers that before the day that things broke she had been thinking of Bayth and his fine tail, and how it would feel entwined with hers. Penth says that when her wing is strong again her cycle will continue as it always has and she will be more content. She is sure that if Penth would find a mate it would help her to feel content even if she could not yet fly.

Penth is sitting on his bed on the other side of the wall. If her wing were not broken she could turn around and put an eye up to the window opening and see him. Instead she Listens. He is also lonely and having trouble settling down to sleep. Miloth does not like him to have so much frustration in his body and worry in his mind.

Now Penth is starting to make his body feel good. Miloth is pleased, and Listens more closely. She can feel that the sleeping fur is soft underneath his naked thighs. He is thinking about how his hand feels, squeezing and sliding. It occurs to her that he is trying to _not_ think about another person. Another person in particular. She realises that Penth does not believe that the other one desires him.

It would be impolite of her to tell Penth the things that another has thought or dreamt without them knowing. Miloth is a good dragon, so she does not tell.

She does not tell, but she does imagine Penth kissing this other one. On his mouth and all over his body. And she imagines what he would look like wrapped around her Penth, and how much Penth would enjoy that. She knows that he has seen the images that are in her thoughts, and she is pleased, caught up in Penth's own fantasies. There is an echo of these thoughts as the other one continues to dream. His dream includes the knowledge of Penth as he slides his hand faster and faster, and arches his back, and gasps for breath.

Penth relaxes into the bed, allowing his thoughts to swirl gently around with hers, feeling his climax as it washes back from Miloth and over him like a wave of wellbeing. They will sleep well now.

She is glad that he Heard her. Because Miloth is a good dragon, and the most important thing a dragon can do is make her rider happy.

 

 

~

 

 _Thankyou to[](http://maple-mahogany.livejournal.com/profile)[ **maple_mahogany**](http://maple-mahogany.livejournal.com/) for the read through and to [](http://barmy-bunk.livejournal.com/profile)_[**barmy_bunk**](http://barmy-bunk.livejournal.com/) for the beta.

 


	8. Bob Once More

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bob is avoiding everyone.

**Rating:** Not Intended for Children (Adult Language)  
 **Pairing:**   Bob/Spencer  
 **Warnings:**   None  
 **Words:** 3070  


 **Bob Once More**  
 

~

 

Bob lay in the dark, staring at the ceiling. His heart was beating so hard that he thought he'd be able to see his bare chest jumping with it if he opened the glow basket next to his bed.

This was the third night in a row that he'd been woken with the same dream. He rubbed his face, trying to chase the images away.

It made sense that days of ignoring his attraction to Smith would come back to haunt him at night. All the hours he'd spent looking at the ground and not at Smith's bright smile and amusing, withering glare, and kept his gaze away from his oddly elegant hands, with his own hands firmly in his pockets, keeping them safely in check. _Not_ touching, _not_ threading his fingers through his hair, _not_ running his palm down the line of his thigh. And now it was all being lived out in his dreams.

Bob had managed to not think about sex much at all since he'd lost his… since he'd come to the Hall. He'd worked hard to prove that Brian had had good reason to sponsor him to the craft, and hadn't just been doing a favour for an old friend.

He'd kept to himself most of the time, the loss just too raw. Even now his insides felt like an open wound. At first it had been so painful to deliberately speak to this new dragon, but the situation had left him no choice. The need of the dragon had been so overwhelming. It had been too similar to his accident. His own beloved Dradineth had not understood that he was alive. He had gone _between_ and Bob had finally woken up, burned and broken, to find half his soul missing. And ever since then he'd existed as a part person. Still living and breathing, though he wasn't really sure why he bothered.

Brian and Greta were a big part of that. Neither had let him stay totally cocooned away. Brian's stubborn friendship, and Greta's warmth had kept him connected to life even when he would have been happier to just fade away altogether. But they would be there, gently teasing him and treating him as if he was still real, and reminding him to breathe.

And now... now there was this hint of life.

Of course, things were never that easy. And Bob had no idea what to do with it all. His first instinct had been to just hide from Smith, and that's what he'd done for the last three days.

It hadn't been easy, since they'd kind of fallen into a pattern of spending any free hours together. Smith would wander by the main hall as he was finishing up his tasks for the day, or Bob would be hovering after meals, keeping an eye on the apprentices, making sure none of those little shits were giving him any grief. It was easy to then end up helping him with Miloth, spending the hours before sleep together. Bob had had to disappear from the dining hall pretty quickly to avoid him. His evenings had been really dull. Last night he'd even taken refuge with Greta, sitting stony faced while she teased him about having better things, or people, to do.

It was a little more difficult to hide from Miloth. Every time she made a little remark about one of the craftsmen passing by, her humour sharp and cutting - just like her rider - reminded him of how much Dradineth would have liked her. She was just his type. Bob snorted to himself at the irony.

Because of course, Smith was just _his_ type. He guessed that it wasn't really a surprise that after all this time he'd start feeling something, and it would be _this_.

But how could he explain that to Smith? And why would he even care? He must have heaps of partners at the Weyr where he was at home. Accepted. Besides, Smith had enough to put up with trying to put up with the stupid and ignorant crafters trying to grab his ass and being simultaneously disgusted and fascinated by him. The last thing he needed was to have one of the few people he seemed comfortable with wanting to bury his face in his hair.

Miloth hadn't exactly made a secret of her attempt to push the two of them together. He wasn't used to a dragon being so damn pushy. No doubt she was needing some stimulation. Smith's reaction hadn't given Bob much confidence, though. He had seemed pretty much horrified at the thought.

He'd be going back to the weyr soon. It wasn't really worth dealing with all of this crap just for the chance that Smith didn't see him as a grumpy buffer zone who happened to like his dragon. He would hate to misread the situation and have Smith mad at him. He had found himself looking forward to the contact with Miloth. He would hate to lose that.

It was difficult to decide who he would miss more. The dragon, or her rider.

Bob took a deep breath and shoved that thought aside, just in case Miloth was awake and listening in. He wasn't naïve enough to think that she was unaware of his feelings about her rider, but he knew that dragons very rarely offered information about other people. Most dragons, anyway. Hopefully even a dragon as nosy as this one. He was kind of relying on it.

It wasn't going to be a problem today, however. Today was a Rest Day. There had been mild temperatures and clear skies, so the Hold had called a Gather.

His room was still dark. It was probably several hours before dawn, so Bob did his best to shut off his whirling thoughts, and ignore his body, responding to his contemplation of Smith's lovelife, and tried to fall asleep again.

~

Bob woke again. The sunlight was streaming in through the cracks in the window shutters. He could hear the bustle of the Hall preparing for the day out.

When there was a Gather everyone in the Hall got a little dressed up, made plans with their friends to have a few ales, and put on their comfortable shoes, ready for an evening of dancing.

He lay there listening for a long time, until the last of the rushing about and calling out died down and there was silence.

Bob's stomach was growling and grumbling since he'd lain in past his usual breakfast time, waiting for the wonderful quiet of the empty Hall. He rolled out of bed and pulled on his most comfortable clothes, and went in search of some breakfast.

The kitchen was deserted.

Bob filled a jug from the pot of klah warming on the stove, and walked back through the empty eating cavern. He didn't see a single soul as he crossed the courtyard or as he climbed up to the sleeping level.

There were no apprentices running along the corridors or pushing past him on the stairs, and no journeymen bitching about the tasks the masters had given them for the day.

Once upon a time, Bob would have been a part of one of the groups walking down the path towards the Hold. Or flying in with his Wing from the Weyr. He'd have grumbled a little if they hurried him along too much, and would have spent most of the day getting his friends out of trouble, but there'd usually be a pretty hold girl willing to be seen dancing with a dragonrider, or a nervous young boy hoping not to be seen by anyone he knew disappearing behind the stalls with him. There were good memories in amongst those thoughts even though he hadn't been to a Gather in Turns.

A few days before, Smith had asked him if he was looking forward to the Gather. For a moment Bob had considered going. He thought it might actually be okay to spend the day with this guy. He'd shrugged and changed the subject, not really ready to come up with an answer.

In the end he hadn't needed an answer, because he'd had that stupid, fucking, _amazing_ dream, and ever since he had hardly been able to look in Smith's direction, let alone in the face.

He was really looking forward to spending the entire day by himself. No more avoiding people. No more avoiding dragons.

Bob pushed the door of his room open with his foot and then froze.

His room wasn't empty.

Smith was standing with his back to his door, looking out of the window down the valley where the Gather flags and tents could be seen.  
   
No one came to Bob's room. Ever. He couldn't even work out how Smith would know which was his.  
   
Bob didn’t know what to do.  
   
Of course Smith would know he’d been avoiding him, but hopefully he just figured it was because Bob was a surly bastard who had no friends. Not because Bob had been dreaming about Smith naked and kissing him. He caught himself looking down the long curved line of Smith’s back, the way his shirt hung off his shoulders.  
   
Bob closed his eyes and swallowed.

Smith was still turned away from Bob, and Bob wondered if he could just back out of the room quietly without him noticing.

“Decided not to go, then?”

Smith's voice made Bob jump. He brought two hands to the jug and held it away from his shirt until it stopped sloshing against the brim.

“I never do.”

“That's what I figured.”

Smith turned to look over his shoulder. His head was tilted to the side and he looked up from behind the long section of hair that hung down over his face. He reached up with long fingers and pushed the hair back, but it swung straight back down. Bob's fingers twitched slightly, resisting the urge to reach over and hook it behind his ear for him. The bruising on Smith's temple from the accident had almost completely cleared up, and he didn't flinch as he raised his eyebrow and held Bob's gaze.

The silence of the Hall hung over the room, seeming to make the silence between them even heavier.

“Are you coming in?” asked Smith. He leant his hip against the window sill, and rolled his body weight around until he was facing Bob.

The door swung closed behind him as he stepped into the room. Bob put the jug down on the work table next to his bed.

Smith walked over until he was standing next to Bob. Bob noticed the long line of his torso, and the way he was taller than he seemed on first impression. Bob was waiting for these things to stop taking him by surprise.

He was so close. If Bob turned his head around, then he'd probably be looking straight into Smith's eyes. He stared at the wall in front of him instead. The rock was smooth and grey.

“Look, Bryar,” Smith started, “if you want me to go away, I will. I can do that. I never meant to make things more difficult for you.”

Bob cleared his throat. He wasn't sure what to say. Things were definitely more difficult now. And confusing. But, “I don't want you to go away.”

“Just, you know, Miloth says you've been avoiding her, too.”

Bob could hear the reproach and hurt in Smith's voice. He didn't blame him. Bob had never meant to upset the dragon. He felt sick.

“I'm sorry,” he mumbled. _I'm sorry_ , he thought at her. There was no reply. He wondered if Smith had waited for his dragon to nap before approaching him like this.

“I've been watching you.”

Bob knew that.

“You don't seem to have anything going on with anyone. I mean... I'm not really sure how you do things here, but you don't seem to be _taken_ or anything.”

Bob would have laughed, if he hadn't felt so much like throwing up. “I'm not taken.”

“And, well, she might be wrong,” Smith's voice clearly expressed his opinion that she never was, “but Miloth seems to think that you're, well... interested. In me.”

He should have known better than think she'd keep that to herself. The air was getting really thick in Bob's room. The window shutters were open, but he needed more fresh air to breathe.

“If she _is_ wrong, you could just say-”

“She's not wrong.” The words seemed to rush out of him before he had decided whether or not to answer.

Smith stepped close to him. Bob could feel breath on his cheek. He put his hands on the worktable to help keep himself steady.

Bob tried to remember how he'd managed to have actual conversations with Smith for the last couple of weeks. He knew he'd strung actual words together into sentences, and even cracked a few jokes. He could do this.

“You want me to go, now?” Smith's voice was husky in his ear.

Bob closed his eyes and shook his head. His jaw was clenched so tightly it was starting to ache.

Smith used his good hand to pick up Bob's arm, and slipped into the space between Bob and the table. Raising himself up onto his toes he tilted his hips and shuffled back until he was sitting in front of Bob.

A foot swung out and hooked around the back of Bob's thigh.

“C'mere.”

Bob could feel his lips slide into a smile, and he let himself be dragged in, stumbling as Smith gave an extra little _oomph_ to the movement. He bumped into Smith's other knee and put his hand back down on the table, now framing either side of his hips. He could hear his heart beating.

He hadn't been this close to another person since he'd left the Weyr. He didn't really count Greta in that. She was a Healer. It occurred to Bob that she was going to give him such a hard time over this. For a sweet and caring soul she had a wicked and relentless sense of humour. It was one of Brian's favourite things about her.

Bob could feel lips ghosting over the skin near his ear, breathing on his neck. A hand gently touched his arm, sliding up to his shoulder. He didn't move. He waited. His breathing seemed to be getting louder. And then he realised he could hear Smith breathing as well.

He opened his eyes.

They looked at each other for another moment. Bob couldn't remember how to move, or what to do next. All he could do was listen to the rhythm of his heartbeat and wait to see what would happen.

“Bryar. This okay?”

He nodded his head, not sure if he could trust his voice.

“Okay.”

Bob wondered if Smith was reassuring himself.

There were fingertips on his neck, and then a little pressure. He went with it, and tilted his head. He felt breath on his cheek, and then lips. They pressed gently for a few seconds and then moved closer to his ear.

Bob still couldn't move. It was like he was frozen in place.

A voice whispered in his ear. “Yeah?”

It took a moment to remember to answer. He wasn't sure what he would do if Smith stopped.

“Yeah.” It came out sounding hoarse and scratchy, but Smith seemed to believe him, because fingers slid into his hair and then the lips were on his. They were warm and soft, and moved slowly even though he stayed still.

Bob leant forward, adding his own weight to the kiss. Smith made a pleased, purring sound that sent warmth straight to Bob's gut. He could feel the backs of his thighs starting to tingle. It was like a slow thaw setting in. Bob parted his lips a little way and slid his mouth from side to side, just enough to feel the pull from Smith's lips catch on his. Smith smiled.

“Yeah,” Bob whispered again. The hand around the back of his neck got stronger, holding him more firmly in place as Smith arched up closer to him. He could feel the tip of a tongue against his lips now, and he had the sudden urge to just _taste_. So he did.

He tasted Smith's lips, and the skin between his mouth and his ear. And the skin of his neck. Smith tasted good, and underlying all of it was the unmistakable musky scent of dragon.

Bob brought one hand up towards Smith's waist. He could feel the heat coming off his body, through the fabric of his shirt. It felt amazing and frightening to be touching another person. On purpose. But he'd come this far.

“Bryar,” Smith whispered.

“Bob.”

Smith pulled back and gave him a questioning glance.

“My name is Bob.”

“Okay, Bob. Then you have to call me Spencer.”

“Spencer.” 'Penth' he thought as he said it.

_I'm sorry!_

It took a moment for Bob to realise that neither of them had spoken. Miloth's mental tone sounded so contrite that Bob wanted to reassure her. What could she have to apologise for?

And then a voice was calling out from the courtyard.

“Spencer Smith! Show your face!”

Spencer swore, resting his forehead against Bob's shoulder.

“I swear by the egg of my dragon, he has the worst timing of anyone I have ever known.”

Bob couldn't tell if he was laughing, or snarling. Maybe it was a bit of both.

“Spen-cerrr! Dude, your dragon has already told us you're here, so stop hiding and get your ass out here!”

“This isn't happening.” Spencer was detangling himself from Bob. He jumped off the table and stalked over to the window. He leant out, calling, “Urie! Up here! I am going to... never mind. I'll come down.”

He turned back to Bob. The mask of pissed off exasperation was slipping, and revealing something more hesitant and nervous than Bob would have expected.

“I really am sorry. Bob, I... I didn't know they'd be coming up today. I would have... Well. Um. I'd better....”

With that, he was gone.

And Bob was finally alone in his room.  
   
   
~  
 

 _Thankyou to[](http://maple-mahogany.livejournal.com/profile)[ **maple_mahogany**](http://maple-mahogany.livejournal.com/) and [](http://miss-diverse.livejournal.com/profile)[**miss_diverse**](http://miss-diverse.livejournal.com/) for the read throughs and to [](http://reni-days.livejournal.com/profile)_[**reni_days**](http://reni-days.livejournal.com/) for the beta.  
   
   



	9. Brendon Visits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brendon visits Spencer.

**Rating:** Not Intended for Children (Some adult language)  
 **Pairings:** Brendon/Shane, Bob/Spencer  
 **Warnings:** None  
 **Words:** 1920  
 

 

**Brendon Visits**

 

Brendon threw his arms around Spencer’s neck, squeezing him and bouncing on the spot.

“Spencer, you look awful! Your face! It’s all fucked up. And your _arm_! Did it hurt? It really looks like it hurt a _lot_. Is the food here as awful as everyone says? How is Miloth, is she okay? I heard she had a broken wing. We’ve been so worried about you!”

He knew he should stop talking for a moment, and let Spencer answer at least one of his questions, but they had not heard a single thing from him since the accident. One message had arrived at the Weyr ten days ago, and then there’d been nothing more.

“Not even a note!”

Spencer stood patiently, allowing himself to be cuddled and squished. As soon as Brendon had to stop speaking again to suck in a breath, he mumbled, “I’m fine, Bden. I’m fine.”

Brendon didn’t really believe him, but didn’t disagree either.

Spencer smiled at him and then glanced back towards the doorway. He seemed to be short of breath, his face flushed and tinged pink on the cheeks.

“Did you run down the stairs?” Brendon crossed his arms. “You should not be running, Spencer! Not with a broken arm. Zack would so be giving you a lecture right now if he was here!”

“I didn’t run anywhere. How is Zack?” His eyes flicked over to the door again. Brendon could tell he was changing the subject. It was something that Spencer did a lot. It was really cute how he thought no one ever noticed, but Brendon let him get away with it.

“Zack is fine. Zack is _always_ fine.”

Brendon craned his neck around to see if he could see what Spencer was looking at. There was nothing there.

“I missed you.”

Spencer’s patient smile softened into something warmer. “I was going to get the Harper to write to you, but… you know….” He shrugged and looked around the courtyard.

It was evident that a lot of work had been going on. There were piles of stone and building supplies, and Brendon could see that one wall looked completely new, the bright mortar stark between the rough stones. He tried to imagine an explosion big enough to cause all that damage, and shivered a little to realise that Spencer and Miloth had been caught up in it.

He looked over to where Dylanth was greeting Miloth. They had their faces close, and Dylanth’s wing was extended towards Miloth’s injured one. It looked so odd, all bandaged up, held away from her body. Shane was standing near his dragon, but his eyes were on Brendon. He noticed Brendon looking over and pushed away from the wall and strolled over to them.

“Hi Spencer. Good to see you, man.” He reached one hand up to curve around Brendon’s shoulder, and stretched the other out in greeting to Spencer. “So, hey, we went down to the Gather to find you. Dylanth was going to come and visit Miloth while we were down at the Hold.”

“Are they all awful? Didn’t you have anyone to go to the Gather with?” Brendon frowned at Spencer.

He was still distracted, looking over his shoulder, and up at the windows above the doorway. “Patrick said that Schechter was pretty cool and would make sure you were okay.”

“Schechter is great. Busy, but… he’s a good guy.” Now Spencer was looking from him to Shane and back again. Brendon knew that Spencer could tell that they were _together_ , but he couldn’t think of a single reason for him to be upset about that in any way. There was something else. It wasn’t like he’d expected Spencer to weep with joy or anything, but he was all fidgety and hadn’t hugged back properly. It was almost like he didn’t want Brendon here.

He patted at Spencer’s injured arm.

“It’s okay, really,” Spencer reassured him. “I mean, the broken arm is a complete pain in the ass and I have been so fucking bored, but it’s not _bad_ or anything.”

“Hey, so Bden,” Shane interrupted, “I think I’ll go down and find the Winemakers’ Tent. I can come back in a little while. Give you guys a chance to catch up for real. I’m sure things have been a bit _lonely_ …” Brendon caught the little wink he gave Spencer and shoved at Shane with his shoulder. “What?” Shane protested. “Look at Miloth. She’s all over Dylanth. You must be climbing the walls, dude.”

Shane was really the most awesome sort-of-weyrmate ever. Brendon had been thrilled to take things further with him and Regan, but the timing of Spencer’s disappearance from the Weyr had pretty much sucked, leaving him no time to process it with him, get his opinion. Or even to have some ‘last time unless your dragon is in a mating flight’ sex. Mostly he’d just missed his friend, and on top of not knowing how badly hurt he’d been, the last week had definitely taken its toll.

Brendon leaned back into Shane for a moment, to say ‘thanks’ and ‘bye’. As he helped him to shrug back into his flying jacket he thought of something he hadn’t asked yet. “Hey! What about Bryar? Oh man, have you seen him up close, yet?”

Spencer’s eyes widened and he looked over his shoulder once more.

“Oh man. Is he scary? I heard he was fierce, dude.”

Spencer rolled his eyes and sighed. “No, Brendon. He’s not scary.” He hesitated. “Well, not to me… Look, Bryar is….”

“Bryar is what?” Brendon asked. He wondered what Spencer’s deal was.

Spencer opened his mouth to reply, but was interrupted again by Shane, saying, “Bryar is _here_.”

“What?” Brendon leant over into Shane to look around Spencer and saw an intimidating guy, covered completely in dark clothes that seemed unseasonably warm, approaching them. He had a soft hat pulled down to his eyes, similar to the one that Shane often wore. Gingery-blond wisps of hair fanned out from the bottom.

Brendon looked back to Spencer, waiting for him to confirm that this was, in fact, the mysterious Bryar. Spencer's cheeks were pink and he was throwing his weight from one foot back to the other, and squirming a little.

Shane stepped forward and extended his arm to make a formal greeting.

“I'm Shane Valdez, Rider of brown Dylanth. It's good to see you again. I was just a weyrling last time I met you.”

Bryar mumbled a reply, withdrawing from the forearm grip and putting his hand back into his pocket. Shane didn't seem phased by the rudeness and continued to make conversation, mentioning people that they both knew from the Weyr.

Spencer was almost glaring at Shane. Of course, that could just mean he was worried. Sometimes it was difficult to tell the difference with Spencer. Something occurred to Brendon and he angled Spencer away from the other two.

“Is that where you were?” he hissed. “Were you with him? With Bob actual Bryar?”

“What do you mean _with_?” Spencer hissed back. “We were just...”

“I mean _with_ with, and you are totally blushing!” Brendon grinned. “Way to go, Spence! Are you sleeping with him?”

“I wish,” muttered Spencer. “Your timing still sucks, Brendon!”

“Oh shit, do you mean we interrupted you? Right _now_?”

And wow, Bryar could glare as well as Spencer did.

“Um... I think he heard us.”

“Heard _you_ , you mean.” Spencer switched his weight to the other foot.

Brendon stepped back, his arms hanging at his sides. “Sorry. I really didn't mean to...”

Spencer closed his eyes and breathed out a long, low whoosh.

After a moment his eyes opened and he caught Brendon's gaze, held it for a moment and then smiled. “I really am happy to see you. I've missed you.”

Brendon felt the smile settle into his chest and relaxed, returning the grin.

Spencer glanced over his shoulder again at Bryar and then dragged Brendon around to face him.

“Brendon, this is Bob Bryar, Craftmaster Smith--”

There was a hesitation, and Brendon recognised the expression that meant that Spencer was listening to Miloth.

“--and Rider of Dradineth.”

It was impossible to decipher what was happening inside Bryar's head at that moment, but it looked complicated. Miloth warbled behind them, breaking the tension. For a moment Brendon thought that Bryar had actually heard Miloth speak, when he ducked his head, glancing at Spencer from the corner of his eye.

Spencer continued, “And this is Brendon Urie, Journeyman Harper.”

Bryar nodded at Brendon. He didn't smile, or extend his arm in greeting, but he met Brendon's eye, and up close he didn't look so scary. Brendon leant into Spencer's side and muttered quietly, “Totally hot.”

He felt Spencer huff, and saw a little pink flush on Bryar's cheeks.

“I guess he heard us again, huh?”

Spencer grumbled at him, but didn't move away, which Brendon took as forgiveness.

“So, Winemakers' Tent? Gather?” Shane reminded them. “Bryar, you going to join us? Dylanth and I have to be back at the Weyr tonight. And it looks like Brendon will be coming home, too.” He turned and murmured without subtlety, “Since Spencer obviously won't be needing the _company_.”

Spencer wasn't looking at Bryar, so he missed seeing his jaw tighten slightly at the quip. He seemed to be leaving Bryar room to say yes or no, but Brendon knew him well enough to know that he was trying not to look hopeful. After a moment of silence, Spencer hitched a smile onto his face and turned to Shane.

“Miloth can't fly yet, so is it okay if I catch a ride?”

“Of course--”

“You can walk with me. If you like.” Bryar looked for a moment as if he regretted speaking, but included them all in his invitation. “It's not that far down to the hold. I could do with some exercise.”

Brendon watched Spencer bite his lip and then smile for real. It was an obviously lame excuse. Brendon wasn't sure if it was to avoid them or the dragon but Spencer seemed happy at the prospect of stretching his legs, and even surprised that Bryar hadn't disappeared at the first opportunity.

“Sounds good to me. Shane, Brendon? You going to slum it down here on the ground?”

Shane would be happy to go with whatever he wanted, so Brendon leant forward and rested his cheek on Spencer's shoulder. “You know I can't turn down a chance to go on dragonback. See you there.” It felt oddly like a farewell, even though they were going to be seeing each other in a few short moments.

As Dylanth sprang from the ground, massive legs pushing them easily into the air, Brendon looked down and saw Spencer and Bob still standing in the courtyard, staring at each other.

He chuckled to himself in disbelief that Spencer had not only met but, from all appearances, seduced the mythical Bob Bryar. And he was going to be grounded at the Smithcraft Hall for another two sevendayss. In two sevendays anything could happen.

At least it would keep Spencer from getting bored.

 

 

~

 _Thankyou to[](http://maple-mahogany.livejournal.com/profile)[ **maple_mahogany**](http://maple-mahogany.livejournal.com/) for the read through and to [](http://barmy-bunk.livejournal.com/profile)_[**barmy_bunk**](http://barmy-bunk.livejournal.com/) for the beta.

 


	10. Spencer and Bob

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And then, there they were, back in Bob's room.

**Rating:** Intended for an Adult Audience (adult language, explicit sexual themes)  
 **Pairing:** Bob/Spencer  
 **Warnings:** None (mention of injuries/scars)  
 **Words:** 3500-ish  


 

**Spencer and Bob**

Spencer could see Dylanth’s silhouette blocking the lights that were just starting to shine around the Gather. Miloth let out a bugle of farewell. The shape hovered in the air for a moment and then was gone, taking Brendon and Shane back to the Weyr.

 

He turned without speaking to follow Bryar - _Bob_ \- up the stone steps and into the Crafthall.

 

Bob was just standing there, a few steps up from him, with an unreadable expression on his face.

 

“You okay? Wish you could go back with them? Or, you know... wish that Brendon was staying?”

 

Spencer stared at Bob for a moment. He wondered if it was possible that he'd been misreading Bob's signals all day. They’d spent the afternoon wandering around the Gather, joking with Brendon and Shane, and avoiding anyone who knew Bob.

 

It had become a bit of a challenge for Spencer to get Bob to unravel a little. Brendon had really helped with that, poking fun at his fierce reputation and promising to tell the entire weyr that he had made Bob Bryar actually laugh. (“Hate to tell you this, dude, but you are really not that scary.”)

 

Spencer had been aware of the warmth of Bob’s arm close to his, occasionally brushing against him, making him shiver and hope that Bob was as interested in getting the hell back up to the crafthall as he was. In the back of his mind, Spencer could feel Miloth basking in the attention she was receiving from Dylanth, adding to the rising tide of _want_ swirling around inside his chest. He wondered if Bob felt it, too.

 

He'd caught lots of sideways looks as he'd stretched or pushed the hair back off his face. There had even been a moment when they had caught each other's glance before Bob had run his eyes slowly down from Spencer's lips to his legs and then back up again. It was nice to know that it wasn't _just_ his dragon that Bob was interested in.

 

Yeah... he was pretty sure that Bob wanted this. Spencer was absolutely certain that _he_ did.

 

“You think Brendon should have joined us? Wouldn't have picked you as a threesome kind of guy.”

 

Bob's eyes widened and he opened his mouth to protest. “I didn't mean...”

 

Spencer smirked back at him, happy to score that hit. He took the chance to jump the steps between them, and turn Bob around. He slapped Bob's ass lightly and made a show of pushing him up ahead of him.

 

“You little... Hey, careful of your arm.”

 

“Hush, it's fine! Now, more walking, less talking, Bryar. People will start getting back soon and we have Things To Do!”

 

“Wow,” huffed Bob, “It's not every day I get accused of talking too much.”

 

Bob's back was solid and warm as Spencer leant in to it, laughing.

 

“Come on, then.” Bob turned back and grabbed Spencer's hand, holding it as they continued up the stone stairway.

 

And then, there they were, back in Bob's room. It was as if they'd gone back between times, before Brendon had shouted out, interrupting them. But now, their positions were reversed. Spencer had Bob backed up against the desk, the jug of klah – now cold – near his hip, and they were kissing. Bob's hands felt good running up and down his back.

 

There was a gurgle of pleasure drifting up from Miloth. No way Bob was missing _that_ one, judging by the way he groaned and took a firm hold of Spencer's hips.

 

Spencer arched back, letting himself push into Bob's palms.

 

“C'mere,” Bob muttered, and tightened his hold, pulling Spencer in towards him. “Shells, your ass.”

 

Spencer went with it, letting Bob take his weight, pressing them together from knees to hips. His bandaged arm was an awkward lump between their chests.

 

He rolled a little from side to side, enjoying the way Bob pulled him closer. Spencer smoothed his palm up Bob's side and over his shoulder, and around the back of his neck, running his fingers through his hair, tugging on it a little before leaning back in, pressing his open mouth to Bob's cheek. The stubble was rough against his lips. Bob curved down to suck gently at Spencer's neck.

 

Spencer decided that there were too many layers in between them and most of them were Bob's. And really, they didn't have all night.

 

Bob allowed Spencer to push his jacket off his shoulders, and tug his tunic up and over his head, but each time he tried to remove his undershirt, Bob grimaced and pushed his hands away. Spencer could see the edge of some scarring, puckered and red, above his collar. He didn’t ignore it, and licked over it all, enjoying the contrasting texture of the fine pale hair on the unblemished skin.

 

Bob had stopped with the ass grabbing, and even the neck nuzzling.

 

“You can touch me, you know? I actually like it.” Spencer tried to find the light hearted feeling they’d had through the day. “You know, when it's not some jerk making a point at my expense.”

 

Bob’s hands were curled up, almost like fists, against his chest. He glared at his feet. Spencer pushed the front hem of his shirt up and out of his way and tried to slide his hand down the front of Bob’s pants. The weight of Bob’s forearms kept the fabric pressed close to his skin.

Spencer stopped at the fastening to Bob’s belt. It was a little awkward to do one handed. He raised an eyebrow at Bob.

 

“Oh. Sorry...”

 

Bob fumbled with his pants. Spencer noticed that his hands were shaking.

 

Bob was shooting Spencer worried looks, even though his belt was now undone, and he was holding his pants up, not allowing them to drop. It was disconcerting how big a deal it seemed to be, as if there could be any logical reasons _not_ to enjoy some sex together.

 

“Hey Bob, you know we can stop if you don't want to do this. Should we?” Spencer stepped back. “You wanna stop?”

 

Blond eyelashes fluttered down as he closed his eyes, and his lips pulled to one side and then the other.

 

Bob shook his head.

 

There was a deep flush on Bob’s cheeks; it wasn’t difficult to read the hesitation.

 

Spencer couldn’t remember ever having to work this hard to get his mouth on someone before. If he hadn’t had Miloth nudging him along with her quiet assurances, _Yes. His heart is beating fast and his thoughts are saying 'yes',_ then he might have just stopped things there and then.

 

There was no appeal to Spencer at all in taking someone against their will. Spencer's first couple of mating flights had been enough to show him how important it was to be fully consenting to what was going down. Or who.

 

“So, you _do_ want to keep going?”

 

Bob didn’t answer.

 

“Okay. I’m not really sure what you’re thinking right now. It seems like cheating to just ask my dragon to rat you out.”

 

“Yeah. No. I mean, yeah I do. Want to.”

 

For a moment, Spencer felt completely out of his depth. He was good at the orgasm part. He just wanted Bob to feel good, to maybe smile, to maybe think Spencer was awesome.

 

_You have been doing all of those things. He has been feeling good, and smiling. And thinking that you are awesome._

 

Spencer felt her good humour, and her love and acceptance. All of those things he could share with Bob.

 

Or he could walk away. He could chalk the whole thing up to experience, and return to the weyr, and never have to get mixed up in something so complicated again.

 

The problem was, that somewhere along the line, it had started to _matter_ to Spencer. Not just that Bob could relax and maybe even get off. Or that Bob could look at Spencer like he was something special. Or even that Spencer's dragon seemed to think that the two of them should get together.

 

It started to matter to Spencer that Bob not be alone.

 

Bob flinched away again when Spencer ran his hand over Bob’s chest.

 

“Does it hurt?” Spencer asked, pulling back.

 

“No. Feels weird, though,” replied Bob. “Looks pretty ugly, too.”

 

Spencer had an idea.

 

It was still awkward getting out of his shirt, and Spencer was happy to let Bob unclip the fastenings and ease the fabric over the bulk of his strapped up arm. He still had a bandage over the worst of his burns, but there was some pink new skin that the Healers insisted would do better being exposed to the air. Spencer picked up Bob's hand and placed it on his chest next to the bandage.

 

“Do you think this is ugly? Does it creep you out?”

 

Spencer could hear Miloth reassuring Bob that he wasn't hurting him, that his touch felt good.

 

_You both have your scars._

 

Bob's fingers were so gentle that Spencer wasn't sure if he was actually putting any pressure on his skin at all.

 

 _Go on_.

 

“Go on.”

 

Spencer and Miloth spoke at the same time.

 

“You two are ganging up on me. I don't think that's fair.”

 

The corners of Bob's lips quirked up briefly. Spencer felt his stomach swoop a little with the thrill he felt whenever he got Bob to smile. He grinned back, enjoying the way he didn't have to hide that.

 

“How about we just leave your shirt on?”

 

Bob swallowed, and then nodded. And then he opened his eyes and nodded again.

 

“Okay, so I’ll just…”

 

“I’m sorry. It’s… _I’m_ all fucked up.”

 

Spencer didn’t reply, he just kept his eyes on Bob's as he worked the pants open, gently tugging the fabric to the side and down to free the erection that was caught uncomfortably in its folds.

 

He whispered his fingers from hip to hip, before running the flat of his palm along the length of Bob’s cock, the weight of his hand dragging it down. He curved his hand over the head, and then rubbed along the underside as he angled it back up to lie against Bob’s stomach. His fingers curled around and gripped firmly as he started to pull.

 

Bob's lips parted, his chest rising as he sucked in air. Spencer inhaled the scent of Bob's skin.

 

He checked in again with Miloth, instinctively relaxing into a rhythm as her approval and interest caused his own arousal to surge. It wasn't anywhere near as overwhelming as a mating flight, when Miloth's desire was _all_ Spencer could feel, but having her there was such a part of the experience. Spencer couldn't even comprehend being without it. He realised that her involvement was probably the best and worst part of this for Bob. On the one hand, connecting through her had made the whole thing possible, but also brought the pain of his loss into sharp focus.

 

“I’m going to suck you now. That okay?”

 

“Yeah. No. I mean, yeah. Fuck.”

 

Spencer felt off balance with his arm strapped up against his chest, but put that thought aside and lowered himself down as smoothly as he could. He reached for Bob's cock, stroking it firmly a few times and then sliding slowly down, moving his tongue from side to side and tilting his head back for an easier angle.

 

Above him, Bob was silent, but his cock was hard against Spencer’s tongue.

 

Spencer took that as a sign to continue.

 

He tugged the fabric of Bob's trousers a couple of inches on one side and then the other until they dropped to the floor. He let Bob’s cock slip out of his mouth and picked up Bob’s feet, one by one, and pushed the pants out of the way. Bob scrubbed his palm over his beard and neck before covering his face with both hands.

 

“Ah shit. Listen, Spencer, it.... I...” Bob's voice was muffled and constricted into a thread.

 

Spencer leant forward, and placed his lips straight onto the old burns that curled up around Bob's left leg.

 

“Fuck! Really, you don't have to—I know it doesn’t look good and --”

 

“Shut up, Bob. You look good. You look _great._ ”

 

_Penth, I do not think that asking this one to be shut up is the way to talk to a lover._

 

Miloth's reproof wrung a shocked snort from Bob. He lowered his hands, placing them either side of his hips on the worktable and looked at Spencer.

 

“She has a point, you know.”

 

“I apologise. I like it when you talk.”

 

Bob squirmed.

 

“The thing is, I know. I know I don't _have_ to do anything,” Spencer said before Bob had a chance tell him not to worry about it, to forget the whole thing. He could feel his breath bounce back onto his face, and his lips tickled, catching on the fine pale hairs. “But there are a bunch of things that I _want_ to do.”

 

He slid his good hand up the back of Bob's other leg, and rested it on the curve of his ass. His legs were strong and his thighs thick and firm.

 

He seemed to be relaxing, so Spencer kept stroking, allowing just his finger tips to venture underneath the hem line. Bob shut his eyes and clamped his hand over Spencer’s, stilling it. He shook his head.

 

“Is this why you haven’t done this much since…” Spencer hadn’t really meant to ask that out loud, but it seemed a little more reliable than asking Miloth.

 

Bob cleared his throat. “At all since…” He trailed off.

 

Spencer tried to remember how long ago Bob had left the weyr. However long it was, it seemed way too long. Too long that Bob had been alone with his scars and his memories.

 

_You are never alone. And for now, in this moment, neither is he._

 

He let that thought settle for a moment and then turned his face back towards Bob's belly. He wrapped his good arm around Bob's waist, and squeezed. The muscles were tense.

 

Spencer let go of Bob and held on to the table, grimacing as he leant back onto his heels and then pulled himself up to standing. His knees and ribs ached from the position he'd been in and he allowed himself a quick moment to stretch and breathe, before stepping forward, into Bob's space. He ran his hand up and down Bob's arm, and looked him in the eye.

 

There were dark circles underneath Bob’s eyes and his cheeks seemed too thin for his build. Spencer was pretty sure that Bob should have a fuller face.

 

Spencer stared at his lips as Bob cupped the back of his head, holding him steady. Bob brushed his fingers over the faded bruises on his temple and then leant in and kissed him.

 

They kissed again, and Spencer pushed into Bob's touch. He lifted one foot up behind him and reached back to push at his shoe, fiddling about until first one, and then the other dropped to the floor. Bob ran his hands more confidently over Spencer's chest – thumb absently rubbing over his nipple - and belly and shoulders, settling in the small of his back, pulling them closer together. Spencer took the opportunity to roll his hips, enjoying the way the zing of arousal overshadowed the worry and concern.

 

The work table rocked and Bob bumped the jug still sitting there from the morning. It toppled over, spilling cold klah onto the bundle of fabric that was Bob's trousers and then fell to the ground, breaking into several pieces.

 

“Ah shards,” he mumbled, pushing the pieces with his foot. “We should move. Hey, come here.”

 

Bob put his hands on Spencer's hips, pushing him away a little and then stumbled backwards the few steps it took to sit down on his bed. His hands were still guiding Spencer, pulling him closer to stand between his legs.

 

Bob took a deep breath, but this time his hands were steady as he undid Spencer's belt.

 

As soon as it was undone, Spencer knelt up on the bed, pushing Bob onto his back. Bob tugged on the belt, and Spencer fell forward with an _oomph_. He pushed up and held his weight on one good hand. Bob's hands were all over him, running over his hips and up to his hair. His parted lips were wet and Spencer couldn't resist running his tongue along the delicate line of his top lip. He rolled over to support himself on his elbow so that he could lift up his hips, helping Bob push his pants down over his ass, just enough to release his cock.

 

Spencer sucked in his stomach trying to give Bob room to reach between them and take both their cocks together, his fleshy palm strong and capable. He met each of Bob's upward surges with a downward thrust of his own. The flush in Bob's cheeks crept up to his hairline and down his neck. He breathed loudly through his open mouth, chin forward slightly as he gulped in air, eyes flicking between Spencer's face and his own hand.

 

From there it was only a matter of a few hurried, frantic minutes before the moment crashed over them; Bob's long low groan echoed in Miloth's triumphant warble.

 

Spencer's arm was quivering from holding his weight. He flopped over onto his back, wedged in between Bob and the wall. He breathed, enjoying the satisfaction and fondness that was looping through him, and through Miloth and Bob and back again. There was still a buzzing sense of arousal in the air. They had only really taken the edge off.

 

Spencer felt Bob stretch out and rummage over the side of the bed. He scooped something off the floor. It was the klah soaked trousers. Bob felt along the fabric and found the other leg was dry. He wiped his own hand and chest and then he shook the fabric and folded it, arranging a clean patch of cloth and offered it to Spencer.

 

This was the part that Spencer hated. It was always a bit awkward after a hook up or a flight. Some guys would want to lie there for a while, maybe go again. Some would be wishing him out of the room quick smart. He was aware of being ready to ease the departure, aware that Bob was stuck here with him in his room. Bob couldn't escape if he wanted to, so it was only polite for Spencer to be the one to make the move to leave. Spencer felt torn between his need to not look too imposing and how much he was enjoying laying there together.

 

He handed the pants back and the action stretched his arm out. He extended it up, pulling on the sore muscles, twisting it to feel the stretch. Bob rolled towards him and started to rub at his shoulder. His fingers felt awesome. The rubbing became stroking. The stroking became finger tips. And then there was the hint of lips. And then an actual kiss pressed to his shoulder. And another.

 

But there was nothing more. Spencer opened his eyes to look at Bob. It occurred to Spencer that Bob probably felt even more hesitant and unsure than he did. He wondered how he could even have considered leaving, _abandoning_ Bob after his first time in years.

 

Bob was looking away now, his face shutting down a little.

 

Into the silence came Miloth saying wistfully _I liked the kissing. It was very nice. Will there be any more?_

 

Bob and Spencer both chuckled and Bob took the initiative, leaning forward and in.

 

“I liked the kissing, too. And, um. The rest.”

 

Spencer's could feel his cheeks tighten as his grin stretched across his face.

 

They kissed for a few minutes. Spencer tried to get comfortable without breaking contact, but his pants were still pushed down around his thighs and were twisted, restricting his movement. It was difficult to turn himself over with his dodgy arm on the narrow cot. His bandages caught on the fabric of bob's shirt.

 

“Um.”

 

Bob reached over to Spencer's hip. “Here. Let me”. He lifted as he helped Spencer turn over, leaving him lower on the bed, backed up against the wall.

 

He leant up on his elbow, one bare leg bent at the knee, foot flat to the mattress, and even though he wasn't as tall as he seemed, Bob loomed over Spencer, a large physical presence. All of his attention was focused on Spencer's lips. He rolled forward, pressing Spencer further into the wall.

 

And oh. Oh yeah. Miloth and Bob were right. The kissing was very nice indeed.

 

~

_Thankyou to[](http://maple-mahogany.livejournal.com/profile)[ **maple_mahogany**](http://maple-mahogany.livejournal.com/) for the read throughs (you really pushed me to make this better and i'm so very grateful to you) and to [](http://barmy-bunk.livejournal.com/profile)_[**barmy_bunk**](http://barmy-bunk.livejournal.com/) for the beta. All remaining errors are my own. 

 


	11. Greta and Brian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brian was preoccupied, and Greta knew why.

**Rating:** Intended for an Adult Audience (adult language, explicit sexual themes)  
 **Pairing:** Greta/Brian  
 **Warnings:** None  
 **Words:** 1656  
 **Greta and Brian**

 

Greta looked down at the top of Brian’s head. He’d become quite skilled at this over the last few years. He’d learnt how to read her sighs and follow her directions, and just how hard to press, and when to lick and when to suck.

Brian scooped his arm under her thigh, pulling her a little further down the bed. He rested his cheek on her tummy, cuddling her thighs together.

He was preoccupied, and Greta knew why.

The Hall was mostly empty today, due to the Gather. Greta liked to stay and use the quiet of the day to sit and be still, and to sort through her notes from the weeks. She could think through any troubling cases that were difficult to ponder on when all the other voices and needs were surrounding her, along with the physical noise of the smithcraft.

She did enjoy it when Brian managed to get away early from the Gather. He had duties to fulfil as Craftmaster - he had to be seen to be enjoying the wine and dancing, and make small talk with the Lord Holder. Sometimes he would stay and flirt with the visiting craftswomen, or enjoy a tryst with one of the Lord Holder's unmarried sisters, but other times he would sneak back up to the Hall and find her.

One of the benefits of Greta’s position as Healer was that it caused no comment for her to remain unattached, and free to dedicate herself to her Craft. She had enjoyed a few liaisons through her years as journeywoman, and still shared a deep attachment to her fellow apprentice, Emily. They had been assigned to different parts of the continent, though, and had made no commitments to each other.

As much as she enjoyed the peace, she was not at all averse to spending an afternoon in bed with such a good and caring friend.

It had only been a little while after they'd met in her rooms when they'd heard the farewells and the departure of the visiting Dragonrider and Harper back to the Weyr. They'd heard Bob and Spencer joking together on their way past Greta's door and on up the stairs to Bob's quarters on the next floor.

 

They'd not been able to catch the words but they'd heard the light hearted, teasing tone. They'd heard the door slam, and a little later they'd heard something smash to the floor. It wasn't difficult to fill in the details of what was happening just above them.

 

Brian hadn’t believed Greta when she’d told him what she had suspected. What she _knew_ really, but her knowing pretty much freaked him out. So she didn’t tell him that she had felt waves of affection coming off Bob and directed at Spencer. She told him that she had _the impression_ that Bob felt comfortable with Spencer in a way they hadn’t seen him be before.

The responding sense of hurt and jealousy from Brian wasn’t a surprise. It wasn’t news to her that Brian’s feelings for Bob weren’t purely brotherly, but she wasn’t sure how much of that he had ever admitted even to himself. Or even if he’d realised what it all meant.

She _leant_ a little on him, prodding at his emotions and encouraging him to examine his response some more.

~

Brian had always cared about Bob. From when they were children, through all the time they'd spent apart, until after his accident, when Bob had been such a shadow of his former self. He'd never questioned his decision to sponsor him to his Craft, and he'd enjoyed Bob’s constant, if silent, presence through the recent years spent learning how to lead his Hall.

It's not that Brian forgot that Bob had been a dragonrider. It was more that that whole part of his life seemed so separate from who he was now, here away from the Weyr.

Brian had been there, as Bob's invited guest, when he had Impressed Dradineth. He had seen them together, but that had been Bob caring for a little creature, much like he'd cared for animals back in their hold growing up.

Having Spencer here all the time had really made Brian think about the fact that Bob had been an actual dragonrider who had ridden an actual dragon. A dragonrider who had ridden an actual dragon who had flown actual mating flights.

It wasn’t Spencer's fault that he was thinking about Bob like that. Not stoic and silent, but lost in the thrall of a passionate encounter. It wasn’t Spencer's fault that Bob just seemed more... attractive. So it definitely wasn’t Spencer's fault that Brian was thinking how much he'd like to extend his friendship with Bob further, very much like he had with Greta.

But of course, now Spencer _was_ here. And even though Brian had been unconsciously waiting for Bob all this time, it was this pretty, slinky green rider who had slipped in underneath Bob's defences. It didn't really seem fair.

Greta was smiling at him like she could see his thought processes. Not that she could. He was pretty sure that she couldn't...

~

If they hadn't both been lying so still and so quietly they might not have heard the faint moan, and the quick giggle that followed. Then there was a deeper pitched chuckle. A chuckle that was probably Bob. If Bob laughed. Which apparently he did. With Spencer.

Greta could admit that she felt slightly thrown off guard herself. She remembered so clearly how _injured_ and bound up Bob had been when she first met him; how delicately she'd needed to tread - never too close, never too distant. She had been prepared to coax Bob back from a setback due to the ongoing presence of the dragon. And instead, he was _laughing_.

Brian lifted his head until he was looking her in the eye. Greta wondered for a moment if she dared to push even a little harder still.

Spencer would leave soon. His wounds were healing well. The dragon was also on the mend. And Bob would be left behind.

“Do you wish it was you?” she whispered into the hush.

Greta pulled a knee up, and Brian released his hold on her legs. She slid her foot along the length of his torso, reaching down at the same time to urge him to move up, come closer.

“He still needs you. He still needs us. When Spencer and Miloth are gone, we will still be here.”

He held her gaze and then pulled himself up, resting his head briefly at her breasts and then nuzzling at her neck.

“He would have been welcome,” she murmured into his hair, “any time.”

“Yes.”

Brian froze for a moment. Greta waited for him to own his response, to be ready to acknowledge that he hadn't been tricked into saying that. She ran her fingers across his back.

“He would have been.” Brian wasn’t looking at her, but he wasn’t hiding. He was letting her see.

She hummed her approval.

He looked up and she smiled at him. Brian rested his weight down on one arm, and Greta rolled over so that they were both lying on their sides, nose to nose. She pushed his arm and they continued over until he she was seated, legs either side of his hips. His hands instinctively found their way to cup her breasts. Greta reached behind and caressed and worked at his cock until she could lean her weight forward, tilt her hips and then slide down onto him.

Brian’s hands curved around to guide her hips. She rested her weight on one hand on his chest, finding a slow, smooth rhythm, pressing the fingers of her other hand to one side of her mound, increasing the pressure and friction.

“He would have been welcome, and that would have been fine with me,” Greta continued. They were holding each other’s gaze now. She could feel Brian’s heart beating fast underneath her hand, but he didn’t look away, and she felt almost as though he was hoping that she would _feel_ the want that she saw in his eyes.

“He still would be.” Brian bent his knees, digging in his heels so that he would have some support to thrust against. “Maybe after… when they’re gone…”

“ _Yes_.” Greta was surprised at how much want her own voice revealed.

“Want to see you together. Want to see you take him apart like you do to me. Want to see him…” Brian’s words were lost to his gasping breaths.

Greta leant forward, leaving space for her hand to coax a quick climax. Brian wrapped his hand around the back of her head, fingers tangled in her long hair, holding her close as they breathed each other’s air. He froze in place as she came, his stomach quivering with the effort of not moving. Brian knew that Greta had no plans at this time to have a child, so he waited, leaving her a few moments to gather herself before lifting her off and back so that she was sitting on his thighs. He fisted himself a few times and angled his erection away as he came.

In the quiet that followed, their words settled down between them. Greta felt as though a page had been turned. The future had never really been something they spoke of, both finding enough camaraderie and support in the moments they found to enjoy together. But now she was aware of a sense of possibility, the hope for something more. Brian opened his eyes and looked at her, and smiled.

Outside, the dragon warbled. Greta felt that if she could understand dragons she would have heard approval in the sound.

 

~

 _Thankyou to[](http://maple-mahogany.livejournal.com/profile)[ **maple_mahogany**](http://maple-mahogany.livejournal.com/) for the read throughs and insightful comments, and to [](http://reni-days.livejournal.com/profile)_[**reni_days**](http://reni-days.livejournal.com/) for the beta.

 


	12. Bob and Spencer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miloth needs a bath.

**Rating:** Intended for an Adult Audience (adult language, explicit sexual themes)  
 **Pairing:** Bob/Spencer  
 **Warnings:** None  
 **Words:** 2610  


**Bob and Spencer**

 

Bob paused at the top of the stone walkway and watched Spencer struggle, one handed, with the long handle of a scrubbing brush. He snorted at the sight, then frowned and hurried forward as Spencer overbalanced. He got his balance just in time to avoid tumbling off the ledge and into the pool where his dragon stood waiting to be bathed. The sound of muttered expletives floated up out of the enclosure.

Miloth, holding her injured wing out of the water, turned her great head towards Bob and warbled her amusement at him.

_I hope you are not here to help. My Penth is very determined. He can do this himself, you know._

Cheekiest bloody dragon Bob had ever met.

Her tail waved in counter balance to the movement of her head, raising a swell that splashed, soaking Spencer from the knees down.

“Shards and shells you great wherry headed child of a...”

He was wearing old trousers, and a short sleeved tunic that had seen better days. He had obviously expected to get wet, so Bob guessed that the exasperation was half for show.

“Having fun, there?” Bob stopped short of entering the enclosure. His heavy boots were a bugger to get dry.

“Hi!” Spencer's face lit up. Bob felt a thrill fizz through him, realising the bright grin was for him. “I was going to come find you when I was done here.”

Miloth lowered her head down into the water. Her eyes, covered by the transparent inner lid, glowed eerily and whirled an amused blue.

 _We are glad that you came to find us,_ she said. _It was your turn._

Spencer glared at her, and then ducked his head, trying to hide his smile. Bob could feel how pleased Miloth was to see him, and it took the sting out of her dig. She was right, as usual. Each afternoon in the week since the Gather, Spencer had been waiting in his room when Bob finished his work. He should have been the one to seek Spencer out before now.

Spencer grimaced and looked at the flood of water at his feet and the brush in his hand. “Thought this was a good use of a Rest Day. Was going to come and find you for lunch. This is just taking a bit longer than usual.”

“Schechter should lend you some hands to help out. That's not a job for one arm.”

“I wasn't going to scrub her all over.” Spencer waved away his suggestion. “Just, you know... the worst bits. Zack would have my hide if he saw the state of hers.”

Miloth waved her head slowly from side to side under the water leaving a trail of bubbles.

“She misses the lake. Never been so long out of the water before.” Spencer reached out with the brush and poked her nose. “Turn around then, you overgrown watch-wher and let's get this done.”

The pool was huge, designed for dipping and cleaning large pieces of machinery, and big enough to fit the green dragon, but there wasn't much room left over for maneuvering around.

Water sloshed up over the ledge again.

Bob looked down at his thick wherhide smithcraft gear and sighed. He sat on the walkway and started unlacing his boots. He looked around to make sure they weren't being observed before sliding off his jacket, leaving his tunic on. It was strange to feel the sunshine prickling at the skin of his arms. He bent to roll up the legs of his trousers and stepped down into the enclosure.

“Looking good there, Bryar.”

Bob tried to glare. He was pretty sure he was actually grinning stupidly at Spencer.

“Fuck off and hand me the brush.”

“I am quite capable of washing my own dragon.” Spencer was trying to sound jokey, but Bob could hear the frustration in his voice. He knew that Spencer hated feeling dependent. He wanted to prove himself, be capable and competent.

“Of course you are. When you have two arms and some fire lizards to help you.” Bob walked over and put his hand on the stick, but didn't try and pull it from Spencer's grip.

_I would like time to dry before the sun goes down._

“Come on. Let me. You can supervise.”

_Then you can tell this one what to do, Penth. You would like that._

Bob couldn't help it, he laughed out loud.

The indignation on Spencer's face gave way to something smug and pleased at the sound.

“Don't encourage her. She's _not_ funny.” He leant forward, and pushed the brush into Bob's hands. “I'll just stand over there, then. And _supervise_.”

They stood, both still holding the handle, smiling at each other.

“Thanks,” said Spencer.

Bob shrugged and then leant forward, pausing to make sure that Spencer seemed all right with the closeness, and kissed him, just pressing his mouth up to Spencer's lips for a moment before pulling away.

“Well, come on.” Bob took the brush from him. “Tell me what to do.”

 

~

By the time Miloth's hide was gleaming again, clean and freshly oiled, the afternoon Rest Day hush had settled over the Hall. Spencer and Bob followed her to a sunny ledge to dry off, out of sight of the rest of the buildings.

When she was comfortably settled, Spencer leant against her, pressing his cheek in against her hide. Miloth's great eyes were half lidded as she rumbled contentedly.

_Thank you. It is nice to feel clean again._

Spencer rolled his head against her neck so that he could look at Bob and smile his agreement. He rubbed his hand along her neck.

Bob found it soothing to watch their comfort in each other's presence, even though he missed Dradineth as much as ever.

He admired the way Spencer's frame moulded to the side of his dragon. They suited each other well, all long lines and fluid movements.

It seemed as if Spencer was waiting for something. As if Miloth was waiting, too. As he watched them, Bob realised that they were waiting for him.

He moved over until he was standing at Spencer's back, and pulled him to his chest. Spencer still had his hand on Miloth, but he dropped his head forward, and relaxed into Bob's arms. It felt as though he was relieved, like he'd been holding himself up, waiting to see what would happen. See what Bob would do.

Bob pressed himself closer to Spencer, and ran his hands down his sides, up underneath his tunic. The wet cloth of his own shirt was soaking into Spencer's. Bob didn't want to get his sling wet.

Spencer was pushing his hips back against Bob, still holding himself up against Miloth's flank. Bob hesitated for a moment, and then stood back. Spencer made a disappointed noise, but the sound was sucked back in when he felt the motion of Bob pulling his tunic up over his head, letting it drop with a wet _plop_ onto the stone ledge. Spencer pushed away from Miloth and stood up, as Bob untied the sling holding his broken wrist, and then undid the laces holding his tunic together. He obediently held his arm out, helping Bob to slide the shirt off his good arm, and over the splint. Spencer didn't turn around.

Their hands were sticky-slick from the oil they'd used, and their skin gleamed as much as Miloth's hide. The sun was making them sweat, but the breeze was cool against his wet skin. Bob moved forward again, this time pressing his chest, skin to skin, along Spencer's back.

The scarred skin felt weird: half of it numb, the other half overly sensitive. He felt reckless, half undressed and aware of all the places he was touching Spencer's skin with his own. The sensation felt brand new.

He pressed his lips to Spencer's neck, tasting him, smelling him. Spencer's hair was stuck to his face. Spencer reached back and cupped his hand around Bob's head, letting his fingers catch in his hair.

Bob could see Miloth's hulky frame moving in time with her breathing, and feel the touch of her mind on his. He could feel the pleasure that the dragon was taking in him, and in his attention to her rider.

Being caught in the middle of the dragon-rider empathy loop, combined with the feeling of Spencer's skin underneath his palms made it difficult for Bob to think straight. It had been so long since he'd felt comfortable this close to someone. He had spent years covering himself up with layers of clothes, maintaining a sense of distance, even with Greta and Brian. And now after only a week of contact, all he wanted to do was touch.

He slipped his hands down the front of Spencer's pants, feeling as much thrill in the texture of his skin, as when he reached further around and cupped Spencer's balls and rubbed at his hardening cock.

“Yeah. Yes. Bob.”

Spencer let go of Bob's shoulder, and undid his pants. They slid down to the ground. He reached behind him. Bob pulled his hips back so he could do the same to his trousers and they joined Spencer's at their feet.

And Bob was naked. Bob was outside, with Spencer. And they were both naked.

He swallowed, needing a moment to manage a rush of anxiety. Miloth crooned and Spencer echoed the sound, patting soothingly at his hip.

Bob could feel himself starting to burn in the afternoon sun. He was vaguely aware that dealing with sunburn would suck, as would explaining it away, so he wrapped one arm around Spencer's waist and pulled him back into the shade of the overhanging rock. His arm slid against Spencer's slick skin. He reminded himself that no one could see them. They were on a ledge that faced out to the valley, and they were shielded by the bulk of Miloth's huge frame.

Spencer's breathing was louder now. It could have been the effort of moving, or the way his head was leaning back on Bob's shoulder, right next to his ear. It might have been because the movement had pulled Spencer even closer up against Bob. Against his cock, pressed to Spencer's back. Bob fit one hand down between them. Spencer bit off a moan and arched back, reaching over his head to hold Bob's hair, pressing his face into Spencer's neck as he started using his fingers.

It wasn't the first time they'd done this, but Bob couldn't forget that it was the first time he'd been naked for it.

Spencer was moving back against him, against his fingers, squirming underneath his hands. He reached behind him again, but this time taking hold of Bob's cock, slicking it up with the oil still on his hand from Miloth's hide. Bob stood more upright and pushed Spencer's shoulder, bending him forward. Spencer went easily. Bob slid his hand down the length of Spencer's spine and thumbed at the crease of his ass, parting the cheeks a little. He may not have had sex for a while, but he was no virgin. He knew what he liked.

 

He felt the surge of desire shoot through Miloth from Spencer and groaned. He flinched at how the sound was louder than he expected.

“Yeah,” answered Spencer.

He pressed in slowly. Spencer arched more, finding an angle that suited him, and then hummed his approval. He dropped his hand from Bob's hip and started to stroke himself.

Bob took a deep breath and then put both hands on Spencer's hips. He looked down at his fingers pressed in against the pink, smooth skin. It was an image that Bob would keep with him when Spencer and Miloth were both gone, back to the weyr. He held on more firmly and pulled out, feeling the _slide_ , the heat, so different from the heat of the sun, catching the back of his calves. He pushed in again, just as slowly. His weight pushed Spencer forward, now that he wasn't being supported by Bob's arms around him. They staggered forward a step before Spencer stopped touching himself, and reached out to brace his forearm against the cliff face.

“C'mon, Bob. Please,” Spencer gasped. “I can't...”

Bob allowed himself a couple more slow thrusts before reaching around and taking hold of Spencer's cock for him.

“Yeah. Yes,” breathed Spencer. Miloth crooned.

The sound was so familiar to Bob. The smell, the sensation. He suddenly missed Dradineth so much it felt as if a sob would escape if he opened his mouth, so he clenched his jaw more firmly shut.

_It is wrong that he is gone. I would like to have flown with him._

Miloth's tone was calm.

_But you are here. And we are here. Now._

Spencer thrust back against him, a line of sweat trickling down into the arch of his back. Bob shuffled his feet in the dust on the rocky ledge, and felt the muscles tense and release in Spencer's thighs as they slid up against his own, and Bob gave over to the sensations of now. The now that had Spencer and Miloth in it, even if not for long.

Bob staggered a little with Spencer when he fell forward as he came. He held himself up with his hand on the rock over Spencer's shoulder. It didn't take long for him to follow.

As soon as they had caught their breath, Spencer straightened, pulling away, shuddering as Bob slid free. He turned his head and locked eyes with Bob. His eyes never looked down at Bob's bare chest, but he didn't look away either. Bob's thoughts clung onto the connection with Miloth, and through Miloth to Spencer. He held onto the calm acceptance of pleasure, and tried to absorb the dragon's disinterest in worrying about the future.

Spencer kept his eyes locked on Bob's and swept his hand through his hair, pulling it off his face, tucking the hair behind his ear. It was a motion that Bob was very fond of. The hair fell forward again and Bob reached out to tuck it back for him. Spencer smiled in thanks. Shells but Bob was going to miss him. It seemed ridiculous that he had known him such a short amount of time.

He knew that Miloth must have ratted him out. Because Spencer reached out and pulled Bob's head down onto his shoulder, and relaxed back against the cliff face, taking Bob's weight.

They stood silently, until the wave of emotion had settled down. Spencer's stomach gurgled and Bob's felt as if his would do the same. He wondered if they had missed lunch altogether. It was easy to ignore, as Spencer stroked up and down Bob's arm and then snaked his arm in around his waist, over his arse, back up to his shoulders. Bob didn't even flinch when he gently palmed down across his chest, one long smooth sweeping arc. He just soaked up the contact.

Bob was starting to feel sleepy when Spencer squirmed restlessly.

“Sticky,” he grumbled.

“Yeah,” agreed Bob, becoming aware of how unpleasant his skin felt, covered in oil and come and dust. They stood up and stretched.

 _I am clean,_ said Miloth, turning to look at them. Dragons didn't smile, but Bob could hear and feel the good humour in her tone. _And I am warm and dry. But you both really need a bath._

 

 

 _Thankyou to[](http://maple-mahogany.livejournal.com/profile)[ **maple_mahogany**](http://maple-mahogany.livejournal.com/) for the read throughs and to [](http://barmy-bunk.livejournal.com/profile)_[**barmy_bunk**](http://barmy-bunk.livejournal.com/) for the beta.

 


	13. Greta (and Spencer)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is time for a check up with the Healer.

**Rating:** Not Intended for Children (Adult Language)  
 **Pairing:** offscreen Bob/Spencer  
 **Warnings:** discussion of potential poly ship  
 **Words:** 2916  


**Greta (and Spencer)**

“Good afternoon, Healer Morgan.”

Greta smiled and turned to face Spencer as he ran lightly down the stone steps toward her. He held his good arm out to balance himself and took the last few steps a couple at a time. She slowed her steps to let him catch up with her.

“Dragonrider Smith. How's my favourite patient?”

Spencer grinned at her. “I bet you say that to all the injured Dragonriders.”

“Of all the Dragonriders I have ever treated, you are definitely my favourite.”

“How many has that been, then?”

“You're it.”

Things had been more relaxed between them in the last sevenday or so, since Spencer had arrived at his check-up covered in mysterious grazes (and a line of fresh bruises on his shoulder and neck that really didn’t look as though they’d been produced by a fall against a hard surface) and tried to glare his way out of explaining them to Greta. It had been fun – in the nicest way – to coax him into spilling the beans on what she already suspected to be true.

When she had finally gotten him talking, it had been difficult for him to stop, as though he’d been holding himself back all that time. He really wasn’t aloof and reserved. Actually he was good company once he let down his defences. He had a sharp wit and keen eye for the ridiculous and was a lot of fun to tease.

Are you headed my way?”

“I am. Miloth is asleep, and I can't find Bob, so I figured--” he lifted his palm up, waving his hand about in an airy gesture, “--why not be early?”

“Walk with me,” said, Greta. “I need to stop in and see Brian on the way, but you can keep me company. If you like?”

“I like.” He fell into step beside her. “How has your day been so far?”

“Full of ridiculous injuries to distracted apprentices who should know better. You?”

“Miloth and I took a walk. The Weyr Healer comes tomorrow to say when we should be able to fly home.”

"Are you excited about going home?”

“Kinda,” he sighed.

“Only 'kinda'?”

“Well, yeah. Miloth misses the other dragons. It's lonely for her here.”

“And you?”

He tried for a laugh, but ended up sounding tired instead of amused. “Most people will be happy to see me go.”

“Oh hush. Every Hall has a few dim glows. They don't speak for us all.”

His shoulders dropped. He shook the hair out of his eyes and sighed.

“I guess. I'm just... bored, really. I'm used to being pretty busy.”

She could appreciate that. A little time off would be great, but a month of just waiting to get better without some sort of occupation would be draining.

“Well, I’m in no hurry to get rid of you.” She leant into his side for a moment as they walked, bumping his arm with her shoulder.

“How’s your arm feeling today? Any soreness?”

“Not when I keep it still. Is the bone still broken?” Spencer asked lots of questions about his progress. He definitely liked knowing what was going on.

“Fractures generally take between four and twelve sevendays to heal. We can't tell you exactly when it's fused into position. It's not as though we can actually look inside your body to see the bones!”

Greta winked as she made the observation. He just raised an eyebrow at her teasing. “Oh, very funny.”

She looked up at him. He was relaxed and comfortable. She wondered if it would be pushing too far to try and bring the conversation back around to Bob.  She caught a shift in his expression a moment before hearing Miloth warble.

“Not asleep any longer, then? Do you need to go to her?” She couldn’t imagine what it would be like to have a dragon speak to you.

“No. She says I should find Bob, though.” He frowned slightly, but kept walking by her side. “He’s in the Hall.”

“Bob is going to miss Miloth,” she said, throwing caution to the wind.

Spencer flushed and looked away. “Yeah. She is going to miss him, too. She likes him.”

“She has good taste.”

“Ha,” Spencer snorted. They continued walking, turning a corner and starting up the stairs to the inner rooms of the Hall.

“She likes you, too.”

It was her turn to blush. “Does she even know who I am?” The idea that an actual dragon liked her was amazing and a bit thrilling.

“Of course she does!” Spencer insisted. “You helped her and you helped me. And you are Bob's friend.” His expression turned exaggeratedly unimpressed. “She has a bit of a crush on Bob I think.”

“Oh, _she_ does, does she?”

His glare was hilarious and she couldn't help but chuckle back at him.

_They are good together._

She stopped in her tracks. “Oh!” She was too startled to hold her reaction back.

_It is not wrong for you to know that. They are good for each other in many ways._

So that was what it was like to be spoken to by a dragon. Greta could hear the words, but also feel the intent and sense of calm imbuing the dragon’s thoughts toward her as she spoke.

Spencer glanced down at her. He seemed to know immediately what had happened.

“Did she-- What did she-- Miloth, what did you say?” he demanded into the air.

_I was letting the Healer know that it is good that you and the other one have been together. It has been good for you both._

“She spoke to me. I heard her.” Greta was still rather caught up on that point, even more than what the dragon was saying. “I can still hear her!”

 _I am happy for you to Hear me, Healer. I grow stronger and soon will fly_ Between _and then to the Weyr. You will help this other one when my Penth has come home with me._

She spoke with such certainty and confidence about the future. Greta could feel herself feeling more hopeful.

_And the master, the fierce one who wants him too, he is your friend and he will help. Everyone will have love and be well._

Greta still couldn’t quite believe what had just happened. Watching Spencer’s face, she could see that he had heard it all. He looked straight back at her. For a moment he seemed to struggle with what to say.  

“You’ll be good for him. Both of you.”

Obviously he felt that now there no reason to pretend that anything was other than it was, but it was taking her a moment to get her head around that.

“Are we going to see you again? Once you get away from here?”

“I… hope so.” He paused. “How would you feel about that?”

She smiled. “I would think it was as it should be.”

They were approaching the Mastersmith's rooms. They could hear voices. Brian was definitely not happy.

“Sounds like someone is in trouble.”

As they got closer they could hear another voice raising against Brian's.

Spencer and Greta slowed their steps and then stopped.

"Every time I fucking turn around!”

They looked at each other uneasily. Greta instinctively dropped her voice, almost to a whisper. “Is that... _Bob_?”

The volume lowered from the shout and Greta and Spencer both stepped closer to the door to listen.

“I thought you were happy with how things have been going. You certainly looked happy enough.”

Greta bit her lip, hoping that she was the only one who heard the trace of hurt in his voice.

“I was being stupid. Shards, why didn’t you stop me making such a fucking fool of myself!”  

“No one is making a fool of themselves. Not yet anyway. Now calm down, Bob.  Maybe you could talk him into staying a bit longer.”

"No Schechter. I should never have hooked up with him in the first place.”

“Didn’t look like you were just hooking up, to me.”

“What does it matter? I wish it had never happened. It's good that he's leaving. Then he won't be around all the time, being all...”

"Slinky," supplied Brian.

Spencer stood frozen in place, starting to flush around his hair line. He looked down at his feet and put his hand on his hip, mouth a thin line, expression shuttered.

“It's not what it--”

“Miloth is awake now,” interrupted Spencer. Greta could hear someone walking toward the door. “I should go check on her. I hope you don't mind if I miss our session today. Things are mostly healed anyway like you say.”

“Spencer.” She put a hand out to him. He stepped back out of her reach.

She held his eye for a moment and then heard Miloth warble in the distance. The door opened, and Spencer turned on his heel and walked for a few steps before his pace sped up and he started to run.

~

Spencer could hear someone running after him. It wasn't the Healer. They called his name.

It was the Mastersmith. Great. The guy who would be there with Bob. Probably what Bob had wanted all along.

He didn't slow down, but he was out of breath and couldn't stay ahead.

A hand reached out and grabbed his elbow. He pulled away and stumbled, cursing his broken arm when he couldn't support himself on the wall from that side.

“Hey! Careful.”

Brian made sure he was steady and then stepped back, holding his hands up away from him.

“That wasn't what you think.”

That really wasn't what Spencer expected him to say. But it didn't matter. Nothing mattered. Shells he was such an idiot.

“It's fine. I'm leaving soon. It's for the best. Whatever. Thank you for your hospitality, Master Schechter.”

Brian narrowed his eyes and folded his arms. He was shorter than Spencer, but was still a Craftmaster, and he looked fierce enough to make Spencer regret his rude tone.

“Look. It’s just....” Brian rubbed his forehead and seemed to be searching for words.   It was an awkward moment of silence before he spoke. Spencer shifted his weight to his other leg and tried not to look like a twitchy kid.

“So, I know you heard some of that. Not sure how much.” He paused.

Spencer didn’t really have anything to say, so he just waited for him to continue.

“You nearly walked in on the middle of a Bob Bryar freak out. I haven't seen one of them for a while now, but they happen. Bob can... he can say some stupid shit. When he's scared he says _really_ stupid shit. If you take what you just heard at face value then you don't deserve the trust he's given you so far, and you certainly don't deserve my explanation.”

Spencer felt sick in his stomach. That stung. He thought of the previous night. The way Bob had let him sit, straddling his hips, and run his fingertips gently over his chest, circling his nipples, stroking over the wispy hair under his arms. He had rubbed his palms over the scarred skin and Bob had let him. They had looked each other in the eye and Bob had let him look and touch. He knew it had been something special. Something real.

“If you think that's bad,” Brian continued, “you should have known him before he went to the Weyr. Man could be a jerk. I can say that as a very old friend.” He frowned.

Spencer nodded quickly, as if to acknowledge that he wouldn't take that liberty.

“We’ve known each other since we were kids. And he’s always had this way of just saying stuff, just to piss you off. He had a lot to say about riders too, you know, before he went to the Weyr and learnt how wrong he'd been.”

 _And then he lost that too_ , thought Spencer, the sick feeling settling into something heavy and hot in his stomach.

 _Penth?_ Miloth touched his mind with her concern.

“He wants me to leave.”

“He _doesn't_ want you to leave and it's making him crazy.” Brian talked over him. “Is that seriously all it’s going to take for you to just walk away? Just because the guy doesn’t know how to put it into words?”

Spencer felt the air woosh out of him.

“I don't _want_ to leave. Him. But... the Weyr...”

“He can't go there.” Brian didn't look so fierce any more. Just really sad. “Maybe one day. Who knows.”

“And Miloth is lonely. I can't make her stay here just because I... ” Spencer trailed off, not really knowing how to finish that sentence. Because he was having great sex? Because he was going to miss Bob so much and had not expected any of this to happen?

“It's okay, Spencer. I understand. He understands. He just really sucks at saying it.”

“He's going to miss me?” Spencer hadn't meant to make that a question.

Brian frowned. “The fuck? Have you being paying attention _at all_? Of course he is.”

Miloth's reassurance was washing through Spencer's gut, helping him to breathe. And to think.

“I'm sorry,” he said.

“Don't tell me. Tell him.”

“No, I'm sorry to you, as well. You … care about him.” Things sort of made sense, if Spencer thought about it that way. Brian was a good guy, but he wasn't weyr-bred. Spencer wasn't sure how many lines he was crossing by even hinting at what Miloth and Greta had revealed to him.

Brian flushed and dropped his arms to his sides.

“Well. Yes. I've known him for a long time.”

“And you’ve wanted him for a long time, too.” Brian’s eyes widened. Spencer kept speaking before he could interrupt. “I think he wants you, too. It's good to know you're here. He might miss me, but he doesn't need to be lonely. Or alone.”

For a moment, Spencer felt like the older one. He watched Brian struggle with how to respond. He wondered if the difference between Hold, Hall, and Weyr was going to make this easier or harder.

“I'm a dragonrider, Brian. A green dragonrider. I have to look after my dragon. She's going to rise to mate. And I will be there with her. That’s the way it is. But just because I’m sleeping with other riders, it doesn't mean that I don't care about Bob.”

Brian squirmed.

“Well, I'm sure he understands all that stuff better than I do.”

“Yeah, but it also helps me understand him. If he needs someone. I won't be here. I get that.”

Spencer had no idea how to discuss this. He was talking to a Craft Master: someone who out ranked him by so much Spencer couldn’t even get his head around it.

 _He is a man first, a Master after that,_ Miloth reminded him.

He tried one more time to say it as simply as he could. “I won’t be here, but you will be.”

Brian was silent for a few moments, staring over Spencer’s shoulder until he seemed to find the words he was looking for.

“Things have never been like that with us.”

“You’ve never had reason to act on it. But you know him. And you know he's... changed,” Spencer tried to explain. “Things might be different. I want you to know that I'm okay with, you know, things. If you were worried about what I felt, or whatever.”

There was more silence, and Spencer wondered if he had just alienated his one ally in all of this, the man who really did have the power to decide if he and Bob would see each other again.

Brian turned back the way he'd come. He looked over his shoulder at Spencer. He smiled, a little ruefully, and shrugged. It was probably the closest thing to an agreement they were going to reach right now. “Come on. He's going to be losing his shit, wondering what you heard. I don't want to talk him down on my own.”

Spencer was sure that Greta would have stayed. He had pretty much missed his check up appointment, so she had nowhere else to be. But now that the his stomach was settling and his brain had caught up with what was going on, Spencer really wanted to see Bob.

_He wants to see you, too. The Healer is there._

Miloth wouldn't lie to him, Spencer knew that.

_He wants you and the small Master. And the Healer._

That was quite a list. “He wants all of us, huh?”

 _Yes. All of you._ Her tone was full of apparent innocence as she continued, and it didn’t fool Spencer for a second. _He does want all of you, but possibly not all at once._

Spencer had to choke down laughter as he turned and followed Brian back to his room.

~

 

_Thankyou to[](http://maple-mahogany.livejournal.com/profile)[ **maple_mahogany**](http://maple-mahogany.livejournal.com/) and [](http://reni-days.livejournal.com/profile)[**reni_days**](http://reni-days.livejournal.com/) for the read throughs and to [](http://barmy-bunk.livejournal.com/profile)_[**barmy_bunk**](http://barmy-bunk.livejournal.com/) for the beta. 

 


	14. Goodbye Bob

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time for Spencer to go home. Almost.

**Rating:** Not Intended for Children (Adult Language)  
 **Pairing:** Bob/Spencer  
 **Warnings:** none  
 **Words:** 3185  


**Goodbye Bob**

Bob leant his head back and swung it slowly from side to side. He waited to hear his neck crack and pop and then rolled his shoulders a few times before opening his eyes. The metal stopped hissing where it was resting in the cold water, so he put his heavy wherhide gloves back on and grabbed the tongs to pick the long blade up and push it back into the kiln.

He could hear Spencer's voice float in from the square. He sounded pretty relaxed, so Bob guessed he was talking to Greta or Brian. Miloth was asleep, soaking up the sun. Bob couldn't hear her sleeping mind, the way he would have been able to hear Dradineth's, but he could still hear that she wasn't awake.

The pain of thinking about Dradineth ached as much as it ever did, but he the edge was not as sharp where it pressed in against his lungs. He sucked in a deep breath, pushing the loss back down to sit heavy in his stomach like it always did.

He didn't let himself think about how the Weyr Healer was coming today to check Miloth's wing out. He didn't let himself think about how soon Miloth wouldn't be there to hear at all. About how Spencer wouldn't be there. Because right now, in this moment he felt pretty good. He wanted to enjoy that.

 

Spencer laughed. Definitely Greta then. Bob leant to the side, trying to catch a glimpse of them.

He heard whispering behind him and turned around to see what the apprentices were doing instead of cleaning up like he'd told them to. Young Marshall’s eyes bugged out as he saw him and bumped into the other two. It took Bob a moment to work out what was making him look so surprised.

Bob was smiling.

He clamped his lips shut and scowled at them.

“Hurry up,” he growled. “Stop pretending to work and do something for real.”

“Yes, sir.”

The other apprentices were still making, ‘Did you see that?’ faces at each other and trying to look like they weren't.

Fuck.

“Get out of here. Come back after lunch and finish up. Useless the lot of you.”

“Yes, sir!” They shoved past each other out the door.

Shells. Bob was never going to intimidate any of those little shits again if he stood around all soppy faced like a sun-struck wherry.

That's what he got for spending the last two sevendays getting laid, and turning into some kid with a crush who sat around talking about his _feelings_. Bob took a deep breath and reminded himself that he was going to enjoy what he could get.

Greta’s words from the previous day were still ringing in his ears. “Nothing is forever. Letting go of the pain doesn’t mean letting go of the memories. Looking forward to something new doesn’t mean you don’t care about what has been.”

She could be fierce when she wanted to be. Not that that had lasted very long. She had pretty much gotten his attention and then held him up as he fell to pieces. It was pretty embarrassing to think back on it. And it had gotten worse before it had gotten better. Bob would feel worse about that if it hadn’t ended up so well.

At first he had struggled against listening to her, too caught up in feeling angry about how much it was going to hurt to say goodbye. Again.

He was so damn sick of losing stuff. People. Love.

“Stop pushing us all away. You nearly missed out on something really special, with Spencer and with Miloth, and you’re going to do it again!”

He had glared with all the anger he had and she hadn’t backed down.

“You can miss your dragon and still be happy now!”  

“Dradineth,” he had hissed at her. Saying his name out loud had felt like a knife going through his gut. “That was his name.” How could she have known him for so long and not known that? He knew the answer. It was because he had never told her.

“Dradineth,” she had repeated, softly.

Fuck. Hearing that in her voice had been the moment he’d started to crumble.

Brian had ushered a wary Spencer in through the door just as Greta had put her hand on his face, and whispered, “Oh, Bob.”

 

 

Bob felt a little ripple in his awareness just a moment before he heard Miloth bugling a welcome. She had obviously been woken up by the arrival of the two other dragons that landed in the courtyard. His usual reaction to hearing dragons arriving was to drop everything and retreat to the inner rooms of the Hall. Today Bob felt bouyed up on the positivity carrying over from the previous day, from the night spent in bed with Spencer. He was also really curious to see Spencer interacting with other riders. He’d only seen him here, out of his element, and except for the day that his friends had come for the Gather, surrounded by strangers.

Even though he knew he wanted to, it still took a while for Bob to build up the nerve to go down to the Dining Hall.

He sat up the back away from the main table. He didn’t have to lean too far to get a clear view of Spencer, and spent most of the time watching him up there laughing and looking comfortable, even pretty excited, to see his Wing Leader and the Weyr Healer. When Wentz stood up to officially thank Brian and the Hall for their hospitality Spencer looked around until he found him. Bob’s heart was pounding in his chest hoping that everyone didn’t turn to see what the Dragonrider was looking at.

_Thank you for being here. You are brave and strong._

One of the things that Bob had missed more than just about anything, was the way his dragon had known him without judgement. He missed the way he had been able to live without putting up a front, because someone saw straight through it anyway.

Lunch seemed to go on forever. Bob waited in the shadows, working up the courage to walk up and greet the Dragonriders. He knew Wentz back when he was at the Weyr. They never flew on the same wing, but Pete had been friends with some of the riders he knew. Bob had heard that he was now weyr mates with an old friend of his from his Harper Hall days. He knew that it would mean a lot to all of them if he could just go up and be polite. He didn’t have to aim at friendly, he could just settle for being _there_.

He took a big breath, and pushed away from the wall that he’d been leaning on.

 _Hemmenth says that he knew your Dradineth._ Miloth sounded pleased and warm. _His rider would like to greet you._

Bob’s breath got clogged up in his throat. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t walk up to these people who had known who he was, and would see what he no longer was. These riders who had their dragons. Who had known his beautiful Dradineth and mourned him when he went Between.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Spencer’s head turn in his direction as he pushed his way past the people blocking his way to the door. As soon as he was out of the dining hall he couldn’t help but start to run, up the stairs and into his room, slamming the door shut behind him.

It took a while for Bob’s heart to slow down and for him to feel like he could take a deep breath without throwing up. He sat on his bed and stared at his hands until they stopped shaking, all the time aware of Miloth talking to the other dragons, and of the buzz of excitement in the hall created by having the visitors there.

In a little while, Miloth would be getting checked out by the Healer to see if she was fit to fly. And then they would go home. Not forever. Hopefully.

Spencer meant it when he said that he would visit. Of course he did. He had gotten up in Bob’s space, reminding him that dragons travelled Between in the space of three heartbeats. That there was no reason this had to be a final goodbye.

“Unless you want it to be, Bryar! Is that what you want?”

But Spencer was young, and this had been a pretty intense time for him. He wasn’t to know how he’d feel once he got back to the Weyr. Got back into his old routines, saw all his friends. Until Miloth rose to mate...

Bob wasn’t going to think about that. Not today. (Possibly not tomorrow either. But he would have to soon enough.)

When he felt calm, he went back to the workshop. It seemed stupid to just sit in his room and mope. All the apprentices were hanging around in the square watching the dragons and not getting anything done, which suited Bob just fine. Last thing he wanted was them all watching him and whispering. As if he couldn’t hear every damn word they said to each other.

Miloth was letting him hear her responses to the Healer but didn’t seem to be expecting him to respond to her. Bob let himself get caught up in the rhythm of polishing some blades for a harvester. Something that would occupy him without needing his total concentration. He heard the hush fall on the square as Spencer and Miloth prepared to attempt to take off. He heard the reassurance and love that Miloth directed at Spencer as she raised herself up, ready to leap into the air, and he heard the excitement and exultation as she unfurled her wings and started to fly.

The other dragons bugled triumphantly at her and a cheer rose up from the onlookers.

_We fly! We fly!_

Miloth’s tone was happy and free. Bob had to see. He dropped the metal blade and ran to the window. There they were up in the sky. The two other dragons were following her, staying close. Miloth glided in a large circle.

 _I feel strong. There is no pain!_ she assured them all.

After only a few minutes they started to usher her down lower, preparing to land. The Healer would have been recommending caution. He wouldn’t want her to strain herself the first time in the air after so long.

_But we just got off the ground!_

Miloth continued to resist, and Bob chuckled at her reluctance. Her mental voice grumbled and complained a little more before someone said something to convince her to follow their directions and come down to the ground.

Bob watched her land, a little less than gracefully than she might have hoped, and looked on as Spencer jumped down and then was swept up in a hug from Wentz, and then the Weyr Healer. Greta was there and held him for a moment before he turned and leant in against Miloth’s neck.

Bob walked away from the window and picked up the blade again and got back to work.

He couldn’t tell how much later it was when he heard the farewell as the dragons left and the rumble of people returning to the buildings. He had a moment of panic that Spencer had left with the others, but then realised that he could still hear Miloth. And of course remembered that Spencer wasn’t going to do that. Miloth wouldn’t have let him, for a start. A humourless laugh pulled itself from his mouth, echoing around the workshop.

_My Penth is happy. I am happy. It is a good day._

“I am happy for you both. It’s awesome,” he told the air. He knew she heard him.

He could hear footsteps approaching. Bob wiped at his face, not sure if there were actually any tears, but not surprised to find his cheeks wet. He turned back to his task.

“Knock, knock?” Spencer peered around the door at him. He smiled when he saw Bob and pushed the door shut behind him.

“So...” he walked over, all casually sexy and offhand. Bob knew that meant that he was nervous. Bob liked that he knew him well enough to see that, though he wasn’t sure why Spencer would be nervous. “Got the go ahead. Which. Of course you know already.”

Bob just nodded. His hand reached out all on its own, and hooked around Spencer’s arm, pulling him closer. Spencer stood up a little taller and looked more sure of himself.

“I told Pete I need an extra couple of hours. You know, to pack.”

“You don’t need to pack. You didn’t really bring anything with---”

Spencer raised his eyebrow and was looking at him like he was an idiot.

“Oh. Okay.” Bob nodded. “Got it.”

He put his other hand on Spencer’s hip, using all his self control to not let the fingers dig right in to hold on. He tilted his head back a little, needing the distance to focus clearly on Spencer’s face, thinking how this could be the last time he was this close to him.

Spencer sighed. “I’m still here, Bob. Come on.”

He tried for a smile, not wanting to do anything to put a damper on Spencer’s excitement.

“You should kiss me now.” Spencer leant forward, shuffling one foot forward, in between Bob’s boots. “In case you’re wondering what happens next.”

So he did.  

Bob concentrated on the feel of Spencer’s tunic under his hands. The way he could feel him breathe in and out, the way his hair slid through Bob’s fingers as he pushed his hand up to cradle Spencer’s head. He tilted to one side, sliding his lips along Spencer’s jaw.

Someone walked past the room and Bob pulled back. Fuck. Last thing he needed. They’d managed to go this long without someone seeing them. He didn’t need to be walked in on on his last day.

“Oh,” Spencer sounded short of breath. “Forgot to tell you, Brian gave you the rest of the day off. He said that you should probably just go to your room and rest or something.”

“Oh he did, did he?”

“Yeah. Something about whatever you needed, just make sure not to traumatise any apprentices. He doesn’t want to deal with Holders horrified at what their poor offspring have had to witness.”

“So you tell me this now? We could have been lying down for this.”

“First. I just wanted...”

“What, Spence?” Bob was pretty sure he’d give Spencer anything he wanted right now.

Spencer took him by the hand and lead him out of his room, and down the stairs. They both instinctively dropped hands when someone came past, but instead of leaving it, Spencer picked his hand up again as they rounded the wall out of view of the Hall. It was nice for Bob to know that Spencer wanted to keep on touching him while he could, too.

Miloth greeted them as they approached her ledge where she lay soaking up the sun, preparing for her trip Between.

Spencer wrapped his arm around Bob’s shoulders and pressed his lips behind Bob’s ear, then pushed his face hard against his neck and took a breath.

“Come fly with me, Bob. With us.”

Bob froze. He imagined being up in the air. He imagined being on a dragon and he wanted it so much he couldn’t breathe. But along with the longing was the realisation that it wouldn’t be Dradineth. It wouldn’t be flying _him_.

“Miloth. She’s not ready--”

“It’s how I convinced her to take it easy on our first flight. I didn’t want her to tire herself out and not be able to take you up later.”

“I don’t think I can... I just...”

Miloth’s great eye was right there, whirling a vibrant blue. She turned her head to look at Bob. _I will keep you safe. And my Penth will be with you. And you can remember Dradineth and you can still be with us. And you can fly._

Spencer didn’t push. He bit his lip, and he played with his hair, and he shifted his weight from side to side, but he didn’t push Bob. They stood there for a moment that stretched out into minutes and then more minutes again. And Spencer waited. And Miloth waited, her breath whuffling the dust at Bob’s feet.

“I want to.” Bob knew that his answer still sounded like a question. He wanted to, but he couldn’t bring himself just to say, “yes”.

Miloth nuzzled at him, and then pressed against his last remaining resistance.

_Please?_

Spencer climbed up onto Miloth’s neck. His arm was free of the sling, but still awkward to manoeuvre and he had to buckle himself in one-handed. When he was settled he reached down to help hoist Bob up.

Bob stared at Spencer’s hand, and then up into his face. Bob breathed, and wondered, how had this ever become his life? He was just some dude from a farming Hold who hoped one day to be able to learn the drum codes and communicate with people from other parts of the planet. Now he was an ex-Dragonrider, who was getting a second chance to fly.

He didn’t want to pull too hard on Spencer’s arm, so he stepped up onto the foreleg that Miloth put out for him, and swung himself up and into position. The muscle memory kicked in as he fitted himself in behind Spencer. Miloth’s hide was warm through Bob’s clothes. It felt so achingly familiar. A hundred images flashed through his mind, of times he’d sat astride a dragon. In the memories the hide beneath him wasn’t green, but a rich deep blue, and the ground was further away. And he thought about how he could never let those memories go, he would never stop missing his dragon, his Dradineth, as long as he lived. And he thought about how much he wanted to keep on living. How he didn’t want those memories to stop him any more.

Miloth’s voice rumbled through her body. She crooned reassuringly at him, but didn’t comment when he buried his face into Spencer’s shoulder, reminding himself to just keep breathing. He wrapped his arms around Spencer’s waist. Not because he was worried that he would fall, but to just feel how Spencer was alive and real and here.

They lifted off. Bob could feel the bunching of the muscles through Miloth’s shoulders unfurling her enormous wings to take the vital first downward stroke as she pushed into the air. And they were flying.

Bob was flying. On a dragon. Again.

~

 

 _Thankyou to[](http://maple-mahogany.livejournal.com/profile)[ **maple_mahogany**](http://maple-mahogany.livejournal.com/) and [](http://reni-days.livejournal.com/profile)[**reni_days**](http://reni-days.livejournal.com/) for the read throughs and to [](http://barmy-bunk.livejournal.com/profile)_[**barmy_bunk**](http://barmy-bunk.livejournal.com/) for the beta.

 


	15. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He'd been flying on a dragon. Or he'd _dreamt_ he'd been flying on a dragon. But now all he could think about was Spencer, and how badly Bob wanted him.

**Rating:** Intended for an Adult Audience (adult language, sexual themes)  
 **Pairing:** Bob/Spencer, Greta/Brian/Bob  
 **Warnings:** none  
 **Words:** 739  


**EPILOGUE**

 

 

Bob woke up.

He was rutting against the bed. For a moment he was disoriented. He'd been flying on a dragon. Or he'd _dreamt_ he'd been flying on a dragon. But now all he could think about was Spencer, and how badly Bob wanted him.

 

His thoughts remained chaotic. He was still in the air. He was in the weyr. He was pushed up against a wall with someone breathing on his neck.

 

He realised that he was getting the edges washing over from Miloth's mating flight. He could tell that Miloth had been caught. Some lucky dragon was tangled up with her. (Not Dradineth not Dradineth not Dradineth). His heart ached. If only it was him. Him and Dradineth flying Miloth. Then it would be him pressed up against Spencer, pushing into him, holding him still, making him _his_.

 

Miloth's mind was a wild and turbulant thing, and the need and triumphant satisfaction was starting to drown out the memory of Bob's sorrow.

He groaned, and tried to lose himself in the friction of the sleeping pallet. Just for a moment he wanted to turn away from his jealousy over whoever was with Spencer and just go with the memory of wind rushing against his skin as he flew through the air on his dragon.

He was really waking up now. He didn’t want to be awake.

A soothing hand was stroking along his back, and there was warmth on either side of him. He heard Greta’s sleepy voice hushing him as Brian rolled him back into his arms, holding Bob firmly against his chest.

He whined at the loss of pressure, but almost immediately his pants were being pulled down and there was a strong hand cupping his cock and giving him something to press against.

There was more rustling. Bob hadn’t opened his eyes yet. He really didn’t want to. He felt like if he did, he would lose the last remnants of the link with Miloth, always stronger when she was in a mating flight, able to find him over all that distance.

Greta finished pulling his pants down his legs, and then he felt fabric brush over his skin as she took off her sleeping tunic and dropped it on the bed. She tugged his arm forward and then nestled in, her breasts pressed up against him. His arms were full of her soft warmth.

It was nothing like Spencer’s long limbs, but it was welcome and familiar.

Greta rolled onto her back, and Bob went with her easily. Brian was right there, his arm strong around Bob’s waist. And everything slotted into place as Bob sank into her.

~

Bob woke again a while later with his head on Brian’s shoulder, and Greta curled in against his back. It was still dark outside but it looked like dawn would come soon.

_Sorry to wake you._

Miloth.

_Shouldn’t you be asleep? You must be tired out._

_Dylanth is tired. I wore him out,_ she preened. _I can sleep here as easily as at the Weyr. And my Penth did not want to wait._

Bob tried to slide up into a sitting position without waking the others up. Brian kept on snoring softly, but as he turned, Bob could see Greta smiling in the dim light.

“Are they already here?” she whispered.

He nodded.

She held her hands out to him and he leant over her. She kissed him, running her hands up and around his neck and into his hair. He was so damn lucky to have her. To have them. Bob dropped a quick kiss onto Brian’s forehead for good measure.

“You go. I’ll let him know.”

“Okay.” Bob slid down the bed and Greta snuggled into his spot next to Brian. He pulled on some pants and tiptoed out. He quietly shut the door and padded barefoot along the stone hallway, hunching his shoulders against the chill in the air. He was outside, standing at the bottom of the steps in time to see Spencer dismount and catch sight of him.

Miloth took off again, gliding over to her favourite ledge, ready for the morning rays of the sun to hit it.

Spencer’s legs seemed heavy as he walked with Bob back up the stairs. Neither of them spoke as they crawled into Bob’s bed, wrapping easily around each other and falling back to sleep.

~

End

 _Thankyou to[](http://maple-mahogany.livejournal.com/profile)[ **maple_mahogany**](http://maple-mahogany.livejournal.com/) for the many read-throughs and hand holding, and to [](http://barmy-bunk.livejournal.com/profile)_[**barmy_bunk**](http://barmy-bunk.livejournal.com/) for the beta.

 


End file.
